


What Keeps Us Alive

by Adenil



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Biology, Asexual Romance, Bisexuality, Canon Gay Character, Casually Bisexual McCoy, Dr. McCoy is Too Old For This Nonsense, F/M, Gay Male Character, Gender-Neutral Minor Character, I'm so happy I can tag that!, M/M, Medical Mystery, Mind Meld, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Relationship Negotiation, Sexual Romance, Socialism, Triangles with Little Arms, Vulcan Necklaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>Star Trek: Beyond</i>, the <i>Enterprise</i> crew has a five-month layover on the station <i>Yorktown</i> as their new ship is completed. Dr. McCoy has plans to make the most of it by keeping himself busy working, but this quickly goes awry as Sulu is stricken with a mysterious ailment, Spock makes an unexpected confession, and that damned James T. Kirk goes MIA. McCoy must deal with unexplained medical phenomena as well as Sulu's worried husband, Ben, all while navigating the tumultuous currents of his own love life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The party began to wind down gradually. At no point were gifts brought out—McCoy had been very clear about that. Yet, it didn’t really matter. The greatest gift for the Captain was directly above them, being built as they sipped sparkling drinks and chatted amongst themselves.

McCoy sat at the bar sipping his own brandy, now heavy with melted ice. He watched the crowd ebb and flow as the crew mingled with one another, relaxed for one brief moment.

Jim was sitting at the far corner still making moon-eyes at the new ship, not really talking to anyone. He and Spock had been talking earlier, hushed and stilted, which told McCoy they still hadn’t talked about It, nor would they ever. Well, that was fine. As long as the crew was together they could weather anything. A midlife crisis at thirty from Jim, and a little survivor’s guilt from Spock was nothing they couldn’t handle. Okay, maybe it was a lot of survivor’s guilt. McCoy frowned and made a mental note to himself to get Spock some damned therapy. It was clear the Vulcan hadn’t sought any out himself, despite that being the _logical_ choice.

He rolled his eyes and searched the crowd for Spock. He finally spotted him tucked into a little corner with Uhura, speaking quietly. Uhura was smiling, but the respectful distance she maintained from Spock at all times told McCoy that they hadn’t made up. Maybe they wouldn’t, given all that stood between them. His heart clenched at the thought, and he sent out a little bit of hope for them. He didn’t ask the universe for much, really. A few good meals occasionally, the safety of the crew, not getting his organs scrambled in the transporter, and now he hoped that Spock and Uhura could both be happy. Whatever that meant for them.

“People watching, Doctor?”

McCoy shook himself out of his funk and looked over at Sulu and Ben. He almost stuck his hand out to Ben, to shake, but he stopped himself when he saw that Ben currently had an armful of Demora. He smiled at the little girl, who blinked sleepily back at him.

“Just observing the crew for any ailments,” he said to Sulu. He had a moment of cognitive dissonance when he referred to him as _Sulu_ in his head. Did Ben have the same last name? He didn’t know. He could look it up in Sulu’s service record later, maybe. “And it seems I’ve found a severe case of exhaustion.” He smiled at Demora. “Been a long few days, huh?”

She nodded and then pushed her hair out of her face in the inelegant style only unselfconscious children seemed to have. “Chichi says I ate too many cakes, too,” she said primly.

Ben chucked. “I did say that! Don’t you think it’s true?”

She considered, her eyes lolling sleepily, and then shook her head. “No, ‘cause cakes have more sugar in them, which would mean I wouldn’t be sleepy, instead I’d have a lot of energy and I’d be running around and jumping on things and you’d say, ‘Demora don’t run around like that!’ But I would anyway.”

McCoy hid his sad smile behind his drink, trying not to think about Earth, infinitely (or so it seemed) far away, and the woman who owned it now. Ben bounced Demora a bit, and shared a fond look with Sulu at her antics.

“We were just about to head out for the night, and we wanted to say goodbye,” Sulu said. “The party was...a good idea, after all that’s happened. Don’t let the Captain try to convince you otherwise.”

“I think he would have a hard time even convincing himself. Although I wouldn’t put it past him to try,” McCoy grumbled.

Sulu patted him on the arm in solidarity. “Ben and I are planning to make the most of our extended shore leave. Maybe we can get together sometime for lunch? Keep in touch?”

“You have my comm number. Just let me know, and I’ll show up with bells on.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then McCoy waved them off, feeling a moment of irrational jealousy at how happy they all looked. He quickly quashed it.

Unconsciously, he touched the pendant at his neck before quickly dropping his hand. He was being silly.

“Does its presence disturb you, Doctor?”

McCoy jumped. “For crying out loud, Spock. Do you get some kind of perverse pleasure out of sneaking up on me?”

Spock eyed him curiously. “I apologize if I have frightened you, Doctor. If you would prefer, I could leave and then return again while announcing myself.”

McCoy squinted. Was Spock making fun of him? He could never quite tell. “No, no. It’s no use. You’re here now, so get on with it.”

“Indeed. I was inquiring if the presence of my gift disturbed you in some way?”

“No, it doesn’t disturb me.” McCoy resisted the urge to hide the necklace under his hand. “I’m just not used to wearing jewelry, that’s all.”

“I see. If you would prefer, I may be able to fashion the stone into another shape, perhaps even something that could be neither lost nor stolen—”

“Stop right there. Next thing you’ll be offering to implant me with trackers. It’s bad enough wearing the radioactive pendant _outside_ my body.”

“The radiation is harmless to humans.”

Why specify humans? McCoy didn’t ask. He cut to the chase. “I saw you were talking to Uhura earlier.”

Spock nodded and folded his hands behind his back. On anyone else it would seem a needlessly formal gesture. On Spock it was just...Spock. “I wished to...how would you put it? ‘Come clean’ about the motivations for my behavior as of late. I also explained to her the unintended effect of wearing the necklace.”

“You mean the weird stalking.”

“My ability to locate her in times of peril,” Spock corrected. “As I mentioned, that had not been my intention, yet I recognize that such an act could be very disturbing.”

“How did she take the news?”

Spock considered. When he spoke, it was slow and measured. “When we first arrived at Yorktown three days ago, Nyota had intended to return the necklace to me, perhaps out of a sense of guilt at continuing to wear what had previously belonged to my mother.”

McCoy felt himself freeze. Did the one he was wearing belong to…?

But Spock continued. “I explained, of course, that it is not customary on Vulcan to take back what was given freely. Perhaps she has retained this, because she did not attempt to return the necklace a second time.”

“Huh,” McCoy grunted. He took a drink just for something to do, considering. “So, now what’s your plan? Are you going to go around handing out necklaces to everyone?”

Spock nodded, reserved. “As many as I am able.”

“Well, I mean…” McCoy was beginning to become uncomfortable over the whole thing. It hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal earlier, when Spock cornered him in the hallway and explained curtly that he _did_ respect McCoy. “Are you giving one to Jim?” he said quickly.

“I will. However, not tonight. I believe you were correct in your judgment that any gift the Captain receives today would, by association, carry unpleasant connotations.”

“You’re damned right.” McCoy drank again, and then his brandy was gone. He let out a stiff sigh and left the empty glass on the counter, declining the bartender’s offer of another one. The party was truly winding down now, and so McCoy slipped from his seat. “Come on. Help me round up our birthday boy and take him home before he falls asleep on the couch.”

They discovered that Jim had already fallen asleep at one end of the couch, while Scotty and Jaylah were chatting animatedly at the other end. But then, like Demora, he had also had a long few days. Scotty looked up at them in surprise as they approached, and then looked guiltily at Jim.

“When did he fall asleep?” he asked, pitching his voice to a low whisper, although he’d been talking quite loudly before.

“Don’t worry about it,” McCoy told him. He gave Jim a little shake, and he roused himself piece by piece.

Jim was drunk, but not sloppy, and he wasn’t anywhere near handsy which (McCoy knew) was the worst stage of drunk for him. There was probably an edict about how starship captains should appear inhumanly strong and untouchable in front of their crew, but at the moment McCoy didn’t think Jim cared. He could run damage control tomorrow, if he wanted.

“Bones,” Jim said, sleep and drink slurring his words. “How was the party?”

“It’s still going on, barely,” McCoy told him. He motioned for Spock, and they each took one of Jim’s arms and helped get him vertical.

“What? Then where’re we going? We should dance...”

“Home,” McCoy grunted. He steadied Jim and made for the door. People waved goodnight at them as they passed, content to stay a while longer in the hall McCoy had reserved.

“Home, home, home,” Jim repeated as they exited the hall and headed towards the turbolifts. The station managers had been able to find the crew all places to stay, scattered throughout the base. The bridge crew all had rooms in this building, save for Sulu who would be staying with his husband. “You know, Bones? This is just like old times! Although, Spock is new. Hello, Mr. Spock!”

“Hello, Captain,” Spock said dutifully.

McCoy glanced back at him. He’d almost forgotten Spock was there, assuming he would stay behind and...what? Talk to Uhura? Well, he was following them now, anyway.

“Spock, did you have a good time?” Jim asked him. He seemed honestly concerned.

“It was a very agreeable evening, Captain.” High praise, from a Vulcan.

“Agreeable. Yes, it was, wasn’t it? I found some wine that agreed with me, and some champagne, too. Bones, what did you find?”

“Brandy.” They arrived at the turbolift and McCoy had to shuffle Jim around to poke the call button. Spock was there, instantly, to support their Captain before he could waver too far to one side and fall.

Jim snaked one arm around Spock’s waist and McCoy panicked for a moment, thinking that perhaps “handsy” was easier for Jim to accomplish than it had once been. But Jim just left his arm there and leaned against Spock’s ruler-straight form for balance.

The turbolift arrived only slightly slower than it would have on the Enterprise—and McCoy instantly quashed the feeling of loss at that thought. Perhaps one day he could get attached to a ship without worrying about it crashing into something, but until then it was better not to get attached at all.

They shuffled into the lift and Jim started humming to himself, looking up at the ceiling. They ascended quickly as Jim hummed some bit of classical music. It might have been the one they had used to destroy the alien swarm ships. McCoy couldn’t tell.

“How fast do you think she’ll be?” Jim asked suddenly, randomly.

Apparently Spock knew what he meant, for he answered, “The top speed of the ship being built at this station is warp nine-point-eight-nine-five.”

“I bet Scotty can squeeze a little more out of her, if he gets the chance.” Jim was smiling—at him, McCoy realized with surprise. Jim was giving him one of his dopey grins. “What’re the medbays going to be like?”

“I haven’t looked at the schematics,” McCoy said, discomfited and unsure why.

The lift slowed to a stop and the three of them trundled out.

“Captain, you should be prepared for the eventuality that this ship may _not_ become another Enterprise,” Spock told him.

“Nah. Why else would they assign us here for so long? We get assigned here for five months, that ship _just happens_ to need five more months of work…? It’s gotta be for us.”

McCoy smirked. “Seems like a _logical_ deduction to me, Spock.”

Spock gave him a withering look.

Jim’s room was at the far end of the hall. When they arrived, Spock looked ready to simply leave Jim there. No doubt he didn’t quite understand the human custom of hauling your drunk buddy home. McCoy keyed open the door and drug them both in, depositing Jim on the bed in the anteroom.

The living quarters on the station weren’t much bigger than on the Enterprise—the station designers had gone for more public living space and less private. But it still felt palatial in comparison to the cramped, ruthlessly efficient quarters McCoy was used to. He admired the Captain’s room for a moment, since he hadn’t gotten a chance to admire his own.

“Booones,” Jim whined, lifting a leg and waggling his booted foot at him. He was sprawled on the bed, eyes closed, arms flailed out at odd angles.

“I swear, you’re worse than a child,” McCoy muttered fondly at him. He set to work untying Jim’s boot. After a moment he felt the air displace beside him as Spock knelt down to work on Jim’s other foot.

“This goes much faster with two,” Jim said happily.

McCoy glared at him. He tossed the boot in the corner and Spock picked it up and instead placed it with its pair neatly by the door. “Are you even drunk?” McCoy accused him.

Jim flung his arm over his face in true Shakespearean style. “Bones, you wound me. Have I ever lied to you?”

“All the damned time.”

“Never!” Jim continued, pretending not to hear. “Here I am, slaving day-in and day-out over a hot comm panel just to put food on our table, and I come home to this!”

“Drama queen,” McCoy said. He started to untuck the blankets with vitriol.

“Not a moment goes by without you accusing me of untoward acts.” Jim was lying, with clear purpose, in a way that most impeded McCoy’s attempts. “And now, bringing home another man!” He gestured at Spock.

“Shut up.” McCoy tugged the blanket out and wrapped Jim up in it tightly, so his flailing arms couldn’t move. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Jim rolled over and wriggled his way up the bed like an inchworm. “Alright, Bonsey, since this is the kind of reception I get. Nothing but nagging! Constantly calling me a liar, a scoundrel, a cheat, a s—”

“Good night!” McCoy yelled, and then stormed out of the room.

In the hallway, McCoy had to catch his breath he was so incensed. Of all the damned—He nearly jumped out of his skin when Spock snuck up on him.

“What did the captain mean by saying ‘just like old times?’”

McCoy glared at him and lay a hand over his heart to calm its racing. “He’s just being Jim. In the Academy I used to have to haul his sorry butt home from all sorts of bad decisions.”

“Ah. The Captain has always been a voracious consumer of alcohol?”

McCoy laughed. “That’s one way of putting it. He’s also a voracious fight-starter, and a voracious woman-angerer, and he’s voracious at jumping off high things and getting concussions and then _I_ have to wake him up every hour for the whole night just to make sure he hasn’t slipped into a damned coma!” He paused, trying to get ahold of himself. “But, uh, thanks for helping me get him home.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

McCoy realized that Spock seemed to be following _him_ home now. Perhaps Spock now thought taking a buddy home extended to McCoy. He was fairly sure Spock’s quarters weren’t on the same floor as his… He decided not to comment, instead mulling over his concern from earlier as they rode the turbolift down. His hand unconsciously touched his necklace again, and he cursed internally at himself. He dropped his hand quickly.

In front of his door they both paused, and McCoy decided he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Spock, is this—”

“Doctor, I wish—”

They both paused. McCoy had to laugh, mostly at himself. “You first.”

“Please, Doctor. I insist.” He bowed his head, politely.

McCoy took a quick breath to steady himself. “Spock, is this… This tracker you gave me.” He decided not to call it a ‘necklace’ almost in spite of himself. “It didn’t...also belong to your mother, did it?”

Spock didn’t answer immediately. That, more than anything, disturbed McCoy. He wondered if Spock was debating whether or not to lie to him. But no, he was probably just putting the words together in the right order...right?

“Not...precisely.” He seemed about to say more, but stopped himself.

“What? What do you mean ‘not precisely?’”

“I see. You are concerned that, like Nyota, I have given you something that holds great sentimental value. Perhaps of such value that you worry you do not deserve receiving it as a gift.”

McCoy grumbled. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“Of course, the stone _does_ hold value to me. Anything from Vulcan would.” Spock paused for a moment, and McCoy forcibly bit his tongue to avoid saying anything. “But it did not belong to the mother I knew.”

“Oh,” McCoy said. “Ambassador Spock’s…?”

“Yes. It was in his belongings, which were delivered to me as I was his closest living...relative. You have likely noticed that its appearance is different from Nyota’s, which is a curiosity I continue to toy with. I believe they are both ‘the same’ necklace, yet each looks quite different. It is also curious that Ambassador Spock had it in his possession during his trip through the red-matter induced wormhole. My… first thought was to give it to someone I cared for, and I know that he cared for a great many people.”

“So why didn’t one of them have it? That is strange.”

“There are many things we do not know about the other potential timeline, and it is unlikely now that we will ever know them. Still, his belongings have offered me many clues.”

“Oh, well…” McCoy tried to take stock of himself. He was truly touched, and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling. “Thank you, Spock.”

Spock nodded. “Does this assuage your concerns, Doctor?”

He shrugged, smiling. “I suppose so.”

Spock nodded again. “Then I shall bid you a good night. Unless…” He paused as if thinking very deeply. “You, too, require assistance with your boots…?”

McCoy laughed. “Why, Mr. Spock, butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, would it? No, I think I can handle a few laces on my own. You sleep—or meditate well. Whichever it is you have to do tonight.”

“Sleep,” Spock confirmed. McCoy thought he spotted a smile, but it may have been a trick of the light.

McCoy keyed open his door and gave Spock one last wave over his shoulder as he passed by. It was a little while later, as he pulled his sleep shirt over his head, that he realized they’d never gotten to the part where Spock shared what he had been about to say.

Ah, well. If it was important, Spock would bring it up again tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remembered that Sulu's daughter is actually named Demora--so that's fixed now in the last chapter and this one. I had previously just made up a name, since the Star Trek wiki wasn't being helpful.
> 
> Thank you everyone for your kind and thoughtful feedback on the last chapter! It truly gave me the energy to continue writing. I have plotted out this fic, so I know where it's going and I'm excited to go there.
> 
> In this chapter I am introducing more of how the Yorktown operates. It was interesting for me to think about, and I ended up borrowing some ideas from Ursula K. Le Guin's stellar novel "The Dispossessed." I recommend you check it out if you like anarchist, socialist, physicists who live on the moon, and then come down to earth to tell the capitalists what's up. ;)

McCoy awoke early the next morning feeling pleasantly well-rested. He let himself laze for a while in bed, contemplating what he would do with his day. With no medical bay to run, he had a lot of free time on his hands. He could walk around the city square and get some fresh air (or at least differently-recirculated air), and then maybe catch a film. After that, he decided he would come back and put his name into the general work pool. A station this large would have one for when people weren’t doing their specialized tasks but still wanted to work, and for their once-monthly generalized labor stint.

The computer would assign him something randomly. He hoped for something outside, maybe digging or building, just to stretch his space-sore muscles.

He sighed. But all that could wait for the evening. The Commodore had made it clear that none of the crew was expected to work, given what had just happened to them, but McCoy knew himself well enough to know that he would be bored out of his mind by the third day if he didn’t jump right in, feet first.

He crawled out of bed and made his way to his personal replicator—another posh amenity the _Enterprise_ had never had. The _Enterprise_ had a handful of power-sucking replicators in the mess hall, but having his own replicator was a treat. It was programed with a few dozen standard drink and meal choices, and there was room for him to program more if he desired. He ordered a black coffee and checked his comm for messages.

To his surprise, he had one already. He sat down, sipping his coffee, and opened the message.

At first he thought it was from Sulu, perhaps setting up lunch plans, but when it opened he saw Ben’s face, frozen in a worried look. Concerned, he played the message.

“Message for Leonard McCoy,” Ben said. His voice was pitched low, and McCoy could hear the sounds of Sulu and Demora playing in the next room. “I’m calling to ask for your expertise as a Doctor. This morning, as Hikaru was getting Demora ready for the day he...fell. He just fell over, and didn’t seem to remember it had happened when I went to him. But he made some excuse...said he was just tired.” Ben paused and stared at a point on the desk. “I don’t believe him, but he doesn’t want to visit the station medical center. I thought maybe, since you are the doctor on his ship, that you could convince him? But, covertly, perhaps? He can be a bit thick-headed.”

McCoy smiled a bit at that. The _Enterprise_ was known for recruiting people with thick skulls.

“I know that this probably isn’t what you want to hear after all you’ve done to protect us, protect the station. But it would set my mind at ease to know nothing is wrong.” Ben smiled a little, crookedly. “Sorry. Thank you. End transmission.”

McCoy sat back in his lounge chair and contemplated the message, already revising his plans for his stay at _Yorktown_. He needed first to procure a medical examination room, and then figure out how to get Sulu into it without giving him an excuse to avoid McCoy. Plus, now that McCoy was thinking about it, Sulu avoiding treatment was probably just one small facet of a larger phenomenon. No doubt the rest of the crew were all holed up in their own rooms, staunchly refusing to speak to counselors about what had been a very harrowing experience. Perhaps getting everyone down for an examination was what was best for them, and then he could send out some referrals to counselors on the station.

He pulled the computer screen closer to him and set his coffee down, typing out a message to station command central, cc’d to their chief medical officer. He requested use of medical space and a volunteer nurse to begin post-mission examination of the _Enterprise_ crew immediately. He also requested a list of counselors on the station, for referral purposes.

Message sent, he drafted another letter to the crew about mandated examinations. Partway through, he replicated himself some eggs and toast, and before he had finished them his comm beeped. It was the _Yorktown_ CMO.

McCoy glanced down at himself. He was still in pajamas. With a shrug, he answered the call anyway. He figured he was entitled. After all he was on a forced vacation.

“This is Dr. McCoy,” he said.

“Ah, Doctor! Greetings on behalf of the _Yorktown_ medical staff. My name is Dr. Dreil. How are you this morning?” Dr. Dreil was clearly a humanoid alien with dark brown skin. Dreil had crescent-shaped ridges starting from the temple and ending just below the eye.

McCoy tried to place what sort of species that implied as he smiled back. “I’m quite well, thank you, Doctor. And yourself?”

“Ah, busy as always. Three new births before breakfast—a new record! All healthy and hale, thankfully.”

At that, something connected in McCoy’s mind, and he recognized Dreil’s species. “Dr. Dreil, you are a Vissian, correct?” At Dreil’s good-natured nod, McCoy continued, “If I may ask, what pronouns do you prefer?”

“You may. I am cogenitor, in your terms, and I prefer ‘they.’ It’s about as close a translation as we can get.” Dreil laughed. “And yourself?”

“‘He’ is just fine.”

“Wonderful. Well, Dr. McCoy, we got your request for medical space, and I’m happy to report that we have plenty of that! We also have two nurses who just put in for work rotation who can assist you running labs. Nurses Tian and Abel. I think you’ll find they will more than meet your needs.”

McCoy blinked in surprise. “Dr. Dreil, I have to say that happened a lot faster than I would have thought.”

Dreil smirked at him. “Yes, well, I confess I had an ulterior motive. I have been considering a career shift myself, and was hoping to get the chance to talk to you about what it’s like, galavanting among the stars. My own species tends to be homebodies, but I clearly didn’t take that to heart.”

“Why, I’d be delighted to have a chat with you.”

“Grand!” they said. “I know a tea shop not far from the hospital that has the most wonderful smells. Shall we say, for breakfast, when you’ve finished with your crew?”

McCoy did some mental calculations. “Sure. Give it a week? I’ll make a note of it.”

“I’m sending the information about your medical space now. Best of luck and good health to your crew.”

McCoy signed off and made a note of his meeting with Dreil. His comm gave a little _ping_ as Dreil’s information was delivered. McCoy quickly shoveled his eggs into his mouth and dumped his plate down the waste receptacle. He sent the message to his crew asking them to come in for check ups, and then he sent one in particular to Sulu explaining about the check ups and how they were all very full, and could Sulu come in right away today?

He found some clothes, choosing to wear his silky blue, comfortable scrubs. As he was fixing his hair in the mirror he paused at the sight of Spock’s necklace, lightly tenting the front of his shirt.

Probably no one would notice, he told himself. He only noticed it because he knew it was there, surely. But it seemed very stark indeed. For a second he almost took it off, but then he scolded himself. He smoothed down the front of his shirt, curtly telling himself he was making a big deal over nothing at all.

He slipped his communicator and tricorder on his belt and left his quarters. There was a map included in Dr. Dreil’s directions, which told him where the nearest site-to-site transporters were and how to get to the medical facilities via rail. But there were also walking directions, so he walked.

His legs were still sore from traipsing around on Krall’s planet for two days, but it was nice to get out. The station had a way about it; it seemed to trick McCoy into thinking he was outside, and he found that pleasant. On his walk he could see, a few miles away, the _Franklin_ still sitting pretty where Sulu had crashed it. He chuckled at the sight, thinking it already seemed to have happened a long time ago, and then nearly fell over as the gravity shifted beneath his feet.

He turned, heart pounding, to look back. People milled around him, unfazed. He’d only taken one step off the path, but apparently that was enough for him to step into the gravity keeping people secure on the other side of the station’s branch.

Feeling spacesick, he kept to the middle of the path for the rest of his walk.

He found the examination room easily enough. It was roughly the same size as his medbay had been on the _Enterprise_ , but shaped with many little anterooms. Something about the acoustics of the space made his steps echo oddly off the walls, giving him the eerie feeling that someone was always walking one step behind him. It definitely didn’t feel like home, but it would suit his purposes just fine.

His nurses, Abel and Tian, came in not long after. Tian was a short, quiet Troyian fellow and Abel was a tall and wiry human man. They seemed to know each other, and were dutiful enough, so McCoy sent them off to work together getting his equipment up and running.

Sulu arrived with a bright-eyed Demora in tow.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he said. “I hope it’s alright that Demora join us today. I took her out of childcare before I got your message.”

“More than fine. How are you doing this morning, Demora?” McCoy asked.

“Good except on the way here Dad kept going the wrong way, so I had to lead him around like a lost little targ.”

Sulu smiled, sheepish. “She knows the station a lot better than I do, I’ll admit, and she knew the way here like the back of her hand.”

“Well, I’m glad you could make it. Hopefully this will be a quick check and then I can let you get back to your family.” McCoy wished the gleaming station had just one wooden desk to knock on.

Sulu hopped up onto the biobed and McCoy pulled out a medical tricorder and began scanning him. Immediately, Demora was at his elbow trying to peer at the screen. She had to stand up on her tiptoes just to see past his arm.

McCoy glanced at Sulu, seeking permission, and when Sulu shrugged good-naturedly he looked down at Demora. “Do you know how to read a tricorder?” McCoy asked her.

“Uh-huh, Dr. Dreil taught me. I’m an expert in human-girl biology now.” She tossed her hair back primly. “They even said so.”

McCoy chuckled and ran the scanner along Sulu. “Well, you seem healthy enough.” He paused at Sulu’s head and shifted frequencies on the scanner to get a more detailed look. On his tricorder, a blue holographic representation of Sulu’s head appeared. He scanned his brain. “Hm, your melatonin levels are a bit off for this point in the day.” He closed his tricorder. “How has your sleep been?”

Sulu sat up a little straighter and glanced at Demora, who was observing them intently. “Well, last night was my first full night back home. A new bed, an extra body to deal with. You’re Chichi kicks in his sleep, you know,” he said to Demora.

She nodded as if that were satisfactory.

McCoy read between the lines and chuckled. “There’s no harm there. Any lingering effects from our trip to the planet?”

“My neck is a little sore.”

McCoy scanned his head and neck again, but the reading was inconclusive. He set down his tricorder and carefully lifted Sulu’s chin up to palpate his neck. “Your thyroid doesn’t seem swollen.” He touched there again, considering. “Well, maybe it’s thinking about it. Could be from all the pressure changes we’ve had going in and out of atmosphere, or it’s just residual whiplash from throwing us off a cliff.” Sulu looked embarrassed. “Any other complaints? Dizziness, lost time?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Yeah-huh, Dad. Don’t you remember when you were tying my shoes?” Demora said.

Sulu shrugged. “I stood up too fast and was a dizzy for a second. I was dehydrated, though. It was just a fluke.”

McCoy nodded, thinking. He didn’t have any reason to doubt what Sulu was telling him, especially since his scans were reporting that Sulu was fine. Still, Ben’s concerns were fresh on his mind. “I’m going to go enter these readings and draw up a referral for you and prescribe something for your neck.”

Sulu deflated. “A referral? Doctor—”

McCoy held up a hand to stop him. “Standard procedure. It’s a counseling referral, Lieutenant,” he said softly. “We’ve been through a lot. I think it would be a good idea.”

Sulu nodded, still looking consternated. “Fine, if you think it’s for the best.”

McCoy left them to enter his readings into the computer in a small side office. It was a bit cramped and stark, and the furniture was not laid out in a way he would have liked. But it was only temporary, he told himself, sitting on the uncomfortable metal chair.

He hadn’t had a chance to go through the counselors on Dr. Dreil’s list individually, but he trusted the Vissian. He found a counselor who had training in handling post away-mission anxiety and printed out a little datadisk with the information. He drew up a prescription for Sulu.

When he returned, Demora had climbed up onto the biobed and was scanning Sulu with the medical tricorder, looking very serious. Sulu looked amused, but was humoring her.

“What is your medical opinion of the patient, Dr. Demora?” McCoy asked her, trying to quell the joyful smile that was threatening to bubble forth at her antics.

“Well, he’s got a lot of wavy lines where his brain should be,” she said, turning the screen so McCoy could look.

He looked and saw that she had switched the scanner to EEG mode. “Yes,” he said gravely. “I’m afraid it’s genetic, too. It’s likely that he will pass on this terrible disease to his children.”

Demora looked deeply disturbed, and started rubbing at her temple.

Sulu smothered his chuckle with one hand and accepted the datadisk and six self-administering hypos from McCoy with the other.

“Take one of these hypos every eight hours. The ache should be gone in two days, but if not come back and I’ll see what else I can do. Meanwhile.” He tapped the datadisk in Sulu’s hand. “You comm this doctor and see what you can set up.”

“Yes, Dr. McCoy.” Sulu smirked up at him and slid down from the biobed, helping Demora jump down behind him.

“I mean it, now. I’ve got enough on my plate chasing down the Captain. I don’t need it from you, too.”

Sulu laughed brightly. “I promise I’ll check it out, okay?”

McCoy wasn’t totally satisfied, but he still dropped the subject for the moment. His examination had taken a little longer than McCoy had expected, and Ensign Anders had already arrived for his own appointment.

He shooed Sulu and Demora out and gathered up his tricorder, ready to work.

*

McCoy cajoled, badgered, commanded, and forced one crewperson after another into taking care of themselves. It took longer than he had planned. Each examination kept running into the next, until finally they all ran into Uhura’s examination, which ran into his lunch.

He’d scheduled himself an hour for lunch, and now he had about twenty-three minutes to eat something and unwind. But given that he had just examined Uhura, the only thing on his mind when he sat down at his desk to eat was Spock’s problem.

McCoy replicated a sandwich and considered the predicament. The issue of Spock feeling beholden to his people wasn’t going to just go away, he knew that. The fact that Spock had torpedoed his relationship with Uhura demonstrated as much. With a wince, McCoy drove away that thought. Their relationship likely wasn’t beyond repair, but so far Spock only seemed able to think in the short term. McCoy wasn’t even sure why Spock had decided to stay so suddenly, other than the fact that Jim needed him. But Jim always needed him, as did the rest of the crew. This couldn’t be a new realization for Spock.

Which meant it could only be a short term solution to a long term problem. Spock may like to think he was logical, but he was clearly being driven by his emotions in this particular instance.

McCoy found that idea both disturbing and satisfying. If it were true, it meant someone else was going to have to do the logical thing and, he realized with a sigh, that someone else meant him.

He didn’t have much to go on—no planet, lost heritage, a need to propagate the species… Well, that was easy enough. They could ship as much of Spock’s genetic material off to Vulcan as they wanted. He just had to figure out how to broach the subject with Spock. He thought if he had all the technical details figured out first it might be easier. He pulled up the Starfleet medical files on Vulcan reproductive biology.

McCoy consumed his entire sandwich in five quick bites, which was exactly the length of time it took him to read the entire medical record on Vulcan reproduction. Surprised, he re-read the file, but it still contained the same amount of information.

He didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know--which was basically nothing. Vulcans were a generally humanoid species without continuous external genitalia. The computer showed him an entirely unhelpful diagram with nothing labelled and nothing shown but a belly button. But that told him nothing about rates of fertility, pregnancy, or even whether or not Vulcans had ever practiced in vitro fertilization. In fact, based on this diagram Vulcan males didn’t even produce sperm, which seemed impossible given what he already knew.

He glanced at the corner of the screen and saw there was a little _classified, redacted_ stamp on it. To McCoy, that just meant he had to go higher up the command chain to find out what he wanted to know. He dashed off a quick message to Dr. Dreil and, in the time it took him to replicate and eat an apple, he received an answer.

He smiled, shaking his head. Dreil truly did want to ingratiate themselves to McCoy. Not that he was complaining.

This file was far more detailed, but it also told him it was CLASSIFIED in huge font, repeated in several languages. He frowned, annoyed. He was the primary physician to an ornery Vulcan, dammit. He had to know what was in this file.

He scanned it quickly, picking up a few new facts. There was a helpful diagram in this file, which labelled the body. Exterior Vulcan anatomy was the same for both males and females. McCoy had to sound out the unfamiliar Vulcan words phonetically. There was the _lok_ located just above the _ip-sut,_ which appeared to cover the genitals. Below that things looked more familiar, and he located the urethral opening and anus. A footnote helpfully informed McCoy that stimulation of the _lok_ was necessary to reveal Vulcan genitals, and thereby collect sperm and/or fertilize eggs. A footnote to _that_ footnote told him that Vulcan males only produced sperm at certain times.

McCoy huffed. What did that mean? They only did it a night? While mediating? While their parents looked on, disapproving? While standing on their heads? Annoyed, he scanned the rest of the document, but nothing explained that footnote. That probably meant he couldn’t just hand Spock a magazine and cup and tell him to get working at producing the next generation. No doubt that was why Spock had originally planned to go to New Vulcan.

Not to be stymied, McCoy continued his search, leaning over the files in concentration.

In males, the testes were located inside the body and positioned low, behind quite a few important organs. That meant it would be, at the very least, a minor surgery to get in there and extract sperm by hand. Spock might want to do that, but McCoy didn’t feel comfortable. Being the only half-Vulcan and half-human around meant McCoy always had to be concerned with whether or not they had enough blood to give Spock a major surgery; it was already worrisome enough when Spock stubbed his toe, he didn’t want to cut into Spock on a whim.

That thought made McCoy sigh and stare, unseeing, at the files. All of this research was assuming that Spock’s half-human side wouldn’t complicate matters. Spock was almost entirely Vulcan, physically, but there was enough of Earth in his blood to frequently drive McCoy up a wall.

“Doctor?”

“Spock!” McCoy jumped, embarrassed, and crushed the urge to throw himself across his computer screen to hide the evidence. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Spock took a step inside his office and McCoy quickly closed the files before Spock could see. “I have arrived as you have requested, Doctor. For my post-mission examination.”

McCoy glanced down at his chronometer and winced. “Yes, yes, alright. Sorry I, uh, got a little distracted over lunch.” He pushed away from his desk and directed Spock out and onto a biobed. He was annoyed at himself for being embarrassed by looking at legitimate medical records, but he was also annoyed at Spock for sneaking up on him _again_. “Sit where I can keep an eye on you.”

Dutifully, Spock sat on the edge of the bed. He sat very straight and observed McCoy bustling around the examination room with a bright, studious gaze. McCoy pretended not to notice.

“Any continued pain here?” McCoy asked, scanning Spock’s lower right abdomen where the pipe had pierced him.

“None, Doctor. Your treatment and care has proved satisfactory, as always.”

“Satisfactory, huh? You flatterer, you.” McCoy shook his head, but was pleased to see that that the equipment on the _Franklin_ had lived up to his high expectations. Spock’s injury was healed, although slightly inflamed and likely still tender. He lifted Spock’s shirt slightly and frowned at the scar. “I’ll get you something for the residual pain as we wean you off the heavier stuff.”

“I assure you, Doctor. The pain is negligible.”

McCoy glared at him and Spock shut up, looking faintly amused. “There’s going to be a scar,” McCoy said. “Nothing I can do about that besides refer you to a plastic surgeon. If I’d had some decent medical equipment, or been a little less heavy-handed with cauterizing that wound—”

“I do not find the scar to be disagreeable, Doctor.”

McCoy paused. “Really?” He started scanning up Spock’s body, taking note of the figures absently. “I suppose the ladies are into that, on New Vulcan?”

“Vulcans have a variety of sexual and romantic interests, just as humans do,” Spock said seriously. “However, as I believe you are aware, I will not be going to New Vulcan to seek a mate.”

“Just checking,” McCoy said and then, before he could stop himself, he winked at Spock.

Embarrassed, McCoy quickly busied himself with his scanner. “You’re damn Vulcan physiology is always confusing my instruments,” he said, although the scanner was doing just fine and Spock probably knew that.

“My apologies, Doctor.”

McCoy frowned up at him. Smug bastard. “You’re as healthy as ever, Mr. Spock.”

Spock slipped from the biobed gracefully and tipped his head to one side, observing a spot on McCoy’s chest.

Thinking he might have spilled something during his hasty lunch, McCoy tried to look down just as Spock reached out and carefully rested two fingers on McCoy’s necklace through his shirt.

His brain short-circuited. He could not, for the life of him, remember the last time Spock had willingly touched him outside of necessity. McCoy scolded himself; Spock wasn’t really touching him now. He was just confirming the necklace was still in place. It was his own damn fault if he felt like he’d just been struck down by lightening.

“I am pleased that you continue to wear my gift, Leonard,” Spock said.

‘Leonard.’ That was the second time Spock had called him that. Was that going to become a thing, now? He didn’t even refer to _himself_ as Leonard inside his own head!

McCoy forcibly restarted his brain. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, sounding petulant even to his own ears.

“I will admit that I do not know, only that I had the distinct impression that you would not want to.”

“Well, I do.” McCoy took a step away and Spock dropped his hand. “I need to write up your prescription and referrals.”

He very emphatically did not run to his office, scolding himself for his reaction to a truly minor exchange. He quickly filled some self-administering hypos to help relieve the swelling and pain around Spock’s injury, and printed out a datadisk with a referral to a _Yorktown_ counselor whose list of specialties had included Vulcan therapeutic services.

He returned feeling a bit more in control of himself, and resolved to just ask Spock right then to avoid future awkwardness.

“Mr. Spock, I had one more thing I wanted to talk with you about.”

Spock accepted the datadisk and hypo case and nodded for McCoy to continue.

McCoy cleared his throat. “I’ve...been thinking a bit, about your predicament. That disk contains a referral to a counselor who specializes in Vulcans but, I don’t know. It’s still not a solution to the problem of you losing—” He stopped himself; he was getting off track. “That is, I consider you a crew member and a friend.” He laughed. “Well, ‘friend’ doesn’t quite cover it. What I’m saying is, I’ve got your back. I already tried to look into how to deal with this and didn’t get very far. The records on Vulcan biology are pretty sparse.”

“Indeed?” Spock asked, sounding amused in spite of himself.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I have some questions I’ll need to ask in order to figure this all out—”

“That is quite alright,” Spock said. He was observing McCoy very closely, and McCoy shifted uncomfortably although he didn’t know why. “I have also been wishing to discuss Vulcan biology with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. However, now may not be the appropriate time.”

“You’re right. I’ve got a dozen crew members lining up outside.” He sighed. “Do you want to stop by here tomorrow?”

Spock looked as he did when he was calculating a particularly complex equation. “Why not this evening? If I may meet you at your quarters.”

“You may.” He smiled, feeling pleased with himself. “Until this evening then, Mr. Spock. Now get out of my hair and let me have some damn peace and quiet.”

Spock bowed his head. “I’m afraid quiet is unlikely anywhere you are, Doctor, and peace an impossibility.”

“Wh—” McCoy spluttered, and was still trying to catch his breath and shoot back as Spock breezed past him and out the door, leaving him standing near the biobed, incensed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock: "i think ur cute"
> 
> McCoy: *panics and hurls himself into the sun*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on the last chapter guessing this was going to be a slow-burn fic. Well have I got a surprise for you!! We're going from impulse to warp nine-point-nine, baby.
> 
> This chapter is NSFW.

That evening, McCoy finished his work late. He didn’t even consider walking back to his quarters. He marched straight to a transporter, too tired to think about scrambling molecules, and transported as close as he could get. 

The station was already entering its night cycle, and the panels on the bubble surrounding it had tilt-shifted to produce only pale pink and purple light. It was beautiful. McCoy didn’t enjoy it. He was frustrated from his long day, and the anticipation of another long day tomorrow. His arms were filled with half-finished PADDs and little datadisks of information which he needed to log and enter from the various examinations throughout the day.

As soon as he arrived he dumped them all out on his table and pulled up his schedule for tomorrow. Only one ensign had signed up for a morning examination, so he moved her to the afternoon and blocked out the rest of the time, resolving to give himself a little break by working from home in the morning. Then he could examine the remaining two-hundred-and-fifty-four crew members with fresh eyes. 

He sighed. It would be intense, but worth the effort. He just needed to keep himself sane in the meantime.

He decided to replicate himself some comfort food to eat. He programed the replicator to deliver him some simple cheesey grits, and also ordered a peach.

He sat on the small couch and ate while reading through the rest of the files on Vulcan biology in preparation for Spock’s arrival. He wasn’t sure when Spock would arrive—only sometime in the nebulous “evening.” He wanted to be prepared.

The grits were fine, and the peach was divine, so he broke into a bottle of acceptable bourbon he had. He always made sure whatever quarters he had were well stocked. It was a mellow bourbon that helped start him on the path towards relaxing. He put his feet up on the coffee table and read through the files for a third time.

For some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying for an impending exam.

The files still contained the same non-information as always, and just as he was about to start thinking about getting frustrated with them, his door chimed.

“Come,” he said, standing.

The door swished open and Spock stepped through. Immediately, McCoy noticed that he’d changed clothes. He hadn’t noticed Spock wearing his uniform earlier because it was so typical, but he noticed the lack of it now. Spock was wearing smart grey trousers and a rich brown leisure shirt with a plunging, u-shaped neckline that lead into Vulcan-characters, stitched in green thread down the front. McCoy could read it phonetically— _ wuh-svai-krus— _ but he didn’t know what that meant. When Spock moved, the dim lighting reflected off of his shirt, revealing many tiny flowers stitched into the fabric. The shirt, or something, seemed to make his brown eyes glow.

“Spock,” he said, and tried to stop staring.

Spock inclined his head. “Leonard. It is agreeable to see you again.”

He chuckled to himself. “We’re going to have to work on your word choice. Come in, sit down.” He waved Spock towards the couch and tried not to feel woefully underdressed in his scrubs. He hadn’t even thought to change out of them. He sat down again heavily.

Spock sat carefully nearby and observed him. “You have just returned from the medical station?”

“Yeah, a bit ago. I had time to grab some dinner. Why?” He smirked. “Just because I’m a mess from work, you’re saying I’m underdressed?”

Spock didn’t look down at himself, no doubt because Vulcans didn't do that. Instead, his face softened. Almost imperceptible, but McCoy had learned to read his facial expressions. On Spock, that was as good as a kindly smile. “I would not imply anything of the sort.” 

“No, if you thought I looked like a burning garbage scow, you’d just tell me.” He shook his head. “Shall we get started, Spock?” He started to reach for his files.

“Indeed. Do you recall the conversation we engaged in on Altamid?”

McCoy blinked and sat back, curious. “Which one? We had a few. Towards the end there you were getting damn-near philosophical.”

“Philosophical? Perhaps my actions could be interpreted as such. I found the experience to be quite fascinating, if also disconcerting.”

“You would say that about dying.”

“However, I refer to our conversation, now thrice interrupted, concerning my deep respect towards you.”

“Spock, I’m serious.” McCoy tried to think of how to shove this conversation far, far away. There was no way he could handle Spock having a heart-to-heart with him. “You really don’t have to say it.”

Spock considered. “I believe I do.” When McCoy made a pained sound, Spock merely continued. “I had assumed, for sometime, that we both had similar understandings of the nature of our interactions together. Yet, I now believe that perhaps neither of us truly understands the other. I wish to remedy that. Leonard.” Spock seemed like he was about to reach out and touch him, but he held back. “My respect for you is without limit. I have given you this necklace, spirit of my ancestors, as a token of that respect but also as something more. I grow concerned that my intentions have been lost in Vulcan nuance and sublimation, and so I say to you now in a language we both understand well: it is a sign of my affection, which is as great as my respect. I find you to be challenging and intriguing. I desire you. I wish to copulate with you.”

McCoy felt like he was going to throw up from panic.

During Spock’s little speech he had grown more and more tense. He had no idea what to do with any of this—it seemed so out of left field. But then, if what Spock was saying were true, Spock had been trying to  _ flirt  _ with him. For how long? He didn’t know. But he was struck suddenly with the memory of their halted conversation the night before, when Spock had said, “I wish…” Could it be that Spock had already intended to deliver this speech  _ then _ ? But he’d said “thrice interrupted” which meant it was even longer ago than that--on Altamid, with death swiftly encroaching.

What could he say to such an open confession?

“You’re out of your mind.” He was touched, and disturbed. Surely Spock didn’t mean…? But he couldn’t have been more clear or more direct.

“Perhaps my honesty is shocking as well?” Spock seemed disturbed by this, as if he hadn’t considered that may be the case. “Very well. I have made my intentions clear, and it is understandable that you will need time to contemplate my words. Humans are often unable to logically handle an unexpected situation. You need not respond at this time, Doctor. I will leave you at once.”

Spock’s words were like knives. “Stop.” McCoy grabbed Spock’s sleeve, holding him still, although he hadn’t actually moved yet. “Just hold your damned horses.”

His heart was hammering in his chest. He only knew that he didn’t want Spock to leave; that would send the wrong message. But what was the  _ right _ message? What did he actually want? He didn’t even have an inkling of an idea. He tried to think through it logically, just to spite Spock, but he couldn’t even get started down that path. He threw out that idea and let himself think with his heart. 

“Okay.”

“Doctor?”

“I said okay, alright? And don’t call me ‘Doctor’ at a time like this. Good Lord, Spock, have some decency.”

His acerbic words seemed to have a calming effect on Spock. “Very well, Leonard,” he said softly. “I shall endeavor to accommodate your wishes in every regard.”

_ Every _ regard? Before he could ask, Spock leaned towards him. McCoy’s breath caught. Oh, so Spock meant copulate  _ right now _ . He was suddenly, intensely aware of the textured fabric of Spock’s shirt under his hand, Spock’s scent, spicy and floral. Spock’s eyes were so brown, depthless, that McCoy felt he might fall right in. This was fine; he could deal with this. Heart hammering, he wondered how had he gotten himself into this mess.

He shut his eyes tight.

Spock kissed as he did all other things. With calm, calculated logic, a very careful exploration. The same dedication and close attention to detail he used to map a star chart. The same gentle probing he used to conduct an experiment. He was measured in all things. 

McCoy felt himself melting under the touch of his lips. He was sinking, fast, and totally out of his element. Desperate for control, he steeled himself to take Spock’s face in his hands. There, that was better. At least now he didn’t feel like he was drowning. 

Spock’s face was smooth—he’d shaved—and McCoy had an echo of a memory. Holding Spock’s face in his hands on Altamid, shaking him awake, terrified Spock would slip right through his fingers.

He felt angry, suddenly, and he pulled back enough to glare at Spock. Spock gazed back, serene, a dramatic counterpart to McCoy’s panting. He was panicking a little, he realized. He resolved to crack that thick shell and get Spock to do some heavy breathing of his own.

“You’re damned impossible,” he said, and then kissed away Spock’s slight frown of confusion. 

McCoy held him still to kiss at his face, his jaw, down his neck. He kissed at the hollow of Spock’s throat and watched him gulp. He kissed there again. His hands roamed across his chest and sides, feeling him through his shirt. He kissed Spock’s jaw again and Spock turned into the kissed with open mouth, letting McCoy in. Spock’s skin was hot, but he was so cool inside that it made McCoy shiver. 

Spock was barely touching him. Only their lips met. McCoy pulled back to glare at him.

“Tell me, Spock. Do Vulcans touch at all during sex? Or do they just lie there and think about infinite diversity?”

He felt Spock’s hands on his sides then. He was about to say something smug before he realized Spock was moving him. He was concerned, suddenly, that Spock was pushing him off. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the situation? But when he tried to leave Spock simply gathered him up in his arms and lifted him. McCoy gasped, totally derailed, as Spock carried him into the anteroom and deposited him on the bed.

“I am afraid, Leonard, that a couch in insufficient to my purposes.”

McCoy tried to stop gaping. “Really?” he managed to ask. He was beginning to get hard from Spock’s show of strength. His mind swirled as he tried to organize his thoughts.

“It is quite small and uncomfortable to lie upon for extended periods. No doubt this would be exacerbated with the weight of another on top. I believe we shall find your bed more acceptable.” He stood there and began to remove his clothing with ruthless efficiency, neither rushing nor lingering to put on a show.

McCoy still watched him, astonished at the expanse of skin Spock slowly unveiled, his heart trying to leap out of his throat. He had seen it all before in a much different setting under the harsh lighting of the medbay, but this felt… new. He grew embarrassed, certain that Spock didn’t intend for him to look yet unable to turn away. Spock unfastened the front of his shirt and slipped it from his shoulders, exposing his flat chest and narrow waist. He left the shirt folded on McCoy’s bedside table and toed off his boots, placing them together. His hands fell to the waist of his trousers and he thumbed them open, sliding them down with immodest ease. 

Spock stood before him, naked. A little triangle of hair lead McCoy’s eye downward. The hair had to be from his human side—Vulcans had only the thinnest of body hair. Spock placed a hand over the sheath that concealed his cock and McCoy suddenly felt extremely over-dressed and lonely in his bed.

“Here, here, come here already. Lord, standing there like some kind of blushing bride on her wedding day. You’re not fooling me for a second.” He spoke hastily, before he could talk himself out of it. He waved Spock toward him and Spock went dutifully, sliding his long body over McCoy and kissing him.

“It was my intention that my current state would disabuse you of any notion that I was attempting to ‘fool you.’” Was it McCoy’s imagination, or was Spock sounding a little breathy himself?

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Spock ignored his words and focused on his body. He undressed him with methodical ease, but now McCoy detected a hint of haste in his actions. Spock removed his shirt and lingered a moment disentangling his necklace and laying it back down again. McCoy had trouble swallowing for a moment, and he suppressed the emotion. Spock’s movements were quick and precise, and when McCoy tried to help he just got in the way, so he lay back and let it happen.

Then they were naked, together, soft skin-on-skin only. McCoy wrapped his arms around Spock and held him close, kissing him again. He had the thought that he would never tire of that. 

He felt Spock’s arm snake down between them and when he looked, he saw Spock attempting to get his cock into the game. He had a moment of cognitive dissonance at the sight of his erection sliding over the smooth expanse of seemingly-nothing between Spock’s legs. Remembering what he had read in the files, he worried that Spock would hurt himself by not following standard procedure. McCoy slapped his hand away.

“You’re gonna wrench it off. Here, let me do it.” 

“I am able to—”

“Shut up, Spock.” McCoy rolled Spock onto his back and shimmed down his body. “I told you I’ve been doing some research” Spock was already reaching for himself again, and so McCoy grabbed his hand. “If you’ve got to touch something, touch this,” he said, depositing Spock’s hand atop his head.

Spock went very still. McCoy looked up at him, concerned, but Spock’s gaze was purely lustful. He felt Spock run his fingers through his hair and then tighten his grip, directing McCoy down.

McCoy laughed.

He figured this was what he had been training for. He quickly located the lok, protected under a small fold of skin. Really, it wasn’t too much different from a clitoris in his own species, and McCoy felt better at that. He certainly knew his way around one of those. He just had to approach this clinically.

He placed his thumb atop it to lift the fold of skin and then gently touched his tongue to the little bundle of nerves.

Spock jerked beneath him. “Leonard!” 

McCoy looked up at him, surprised, but Spock quickly got himself under control.

“Please,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Continue this activity.”

McCoy smirked. “I aim to please.”

He licked him again. And again. Each time Spock’s hips quivered enticingly, and McCoy redoubled his efforts. He’d forgotten how much he liked this. Spock tasted different than anyone he’d ever been with, but it only added to the invigorating experience. He lapped at Spock, teasing the little lok with the tip of his tongue, then flattening it out against it. Spock shoved his face down between his legs and made tiny, pleading sounds that got caught in his throat. So quiet McCoy could barely hear them.

McCoy felt Spock’s body shift under his chin as the sheath housing his cock began to open, enticed by McCoy’s ministrations. He slid a finger inside to help coax it out, feeling the slick that Spock’s body was producing. He could barely fit another finger inside, one on each side of Spock’s rousing cock. He applied pressure, running his fingers down Spock’s length like he was beckoning for Spock to please come out and play. 

The slit opened fully, then, and allowed his cock to unfurl. McCoy got a chinfull of very eager penis and he laughed.

“Why, Mr. Spock. You seem to be enjoying this.” He kissed the side of Spock’s cock, tasting him. 

Spock gazed down at him. “Indeed, it is quite—”

“I swear, if you say ‘agreeable’ I’m going to bite it off.”

Spock wisely said nothing at all.

McCoy nodded, satisfied, and then took pleasure in examining Spock close up. Really, it wasn’t that different from a human male penis, and since McCoy knew his way around one of those just as well as he did a clitoris, he felt pretty good about his chances. The shape was a little different, broader at the base than a human penis would have been, more than twice as long as his hand was wide, and tapering to a half-inch before flaring out again at the head. It was interesting to look at and hold in his hand. The entire cock was slick, not just the head, and a pale green. McCoy tasted Spock again, trying to place the flavor and failing. 

Not to be deterred, he licked his way up to the head. Spock’s quivering had quieted slightly, and so McCoy ran his thumb up Spock’s length to gather some slick, and then he pressed it to the lok again, rubbing little circles. 

“Fascinating,” Spock said, surprised, as though such an idea had never occurred to him.

McCoy started easy, sucking at his head softly until he decided how much pressure Spock’s sensitive cock could handle. It didn’t take much. The thin pressure of his lips was enough to have Spock pull at his hair again and try to push him down. McCoy went willingly, swallowing up as much of Spock as he could as his thumb worked the little bundle of nerves and his other hand worked the shaft.

Slick and saliva kept pooling in his mouth, forcing him to swallow again and again. Spock hitched his hips each time and McCoy grinned, sucked, swallowed again, totally caught up in the headiness of it all.

Spock suddenly yanked him off and grabbed his hand to still him.

Surprised, McCoy looked up at him. Spock’s eyes were closed and he was breathing too steadily, his lips pursed into a thin line. “What is it?”

“I have experienced orgasm. My body has become sensitized and I must request  short recess before we continue.”

McCoy looked down at Spock’s erection. “But,” he said, dumbfounded. “You didn’t—”

Spock grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “Vulcans do not always produce sperm.”

“I know that,” McCoy said, annoyed mostly that Spock’s explanation sounded like a direct quote from the files. “I am a doctor. I just meant you’re still hard.”

“Indeed.” Spock kissed him gently. McCoy got the impression that Spock was amused by him. “If you would prefer, I would be amenable to describing the physiological causes. However, I have an alternative suggestion for how we might spend our time that I believe we will both find more preferable.”

“Oh?”

Spock slid his hand between McCoy’s legs, touching the soft skin of his thigh. “Leonard, I would prefer instead to be inside of you.”

McCoy gulped, hard. “I think I can get behind that.”

Spock rolled him onto his stomach and tucked a pillow under his thighs. McCoy wondered if Spock had done research of his own—this position was textbook. But if so, he’d forgotten one key thing.

“Spock, I don’t have any—” He stopped in surprise, watching as Spock reached into his bedside cabinet and removed a small container of personal lubricant. “How the devil did you know that was there?”

“All  _ Yorktown _ quarters contain the same basic supplies.”

How had Spock discovered that? Had he been with another crew member—McCoy attempted to forcibly eject that thought into space. Maybe it was true, that he wasn’t the only person Spock was being totally and openly honest with. He tried to hide his face in the bed sheets. 

Spock rearranged him carefully, bending his right knee and sliding his leg up. It made him feel open, exposed, wary. He heard the jar  _ click _ open and he shivered. McCoy curled his hands into fists, holding tight to the sheets. 

He could feel Spock’s hands on him, probing, and for a second McCoy almost asked Spock to stop. But the feeling passed. Spock leaned over and kissed the back of his neck and stayed there, low, pressed against him, as he slid a finger inside of him.

It was better when he could feel Spock all up and down his body. Better to know he wasn’t alone in this. He let out a sigh, relaxing into Spock’s touch. Spock worked frustratingly slow, spreading lube around and inside, gradually stretching him. McCoy was hard and ready and squirming slightly be the time Spock slid a second finger in.

“My God, Spock. Are you trying to kill me?” He rocked back against Spock’s hand, demanding.

“I wish only to give you pleasure, Leonard.”

“Fuck,” McCoy said into the bedspread. “Well, could you hurry it up?”

“I do not wish to damage you. Vulcan anatomy can be...unexpectedly difficult for humans to endure even with preparation.” 

“For chrissakes—Spock, I saw it, okay? I had my mouth on your cock a minute ago. You don’t have to brag to me about it.”

Spock seemed perturbed. “I am not bragging.”

McCoy pushed himself up enough to twist around and look over his shoulder at Spock, who gazed down at him heatedly. “Spock,” he warned.

Spock considered for a half-second more before removing his hand. His other hand came up to the back of McCoy’s neck and turned his head, pressing his face gently into the bedspread. McCoy gulped as he did it, unexpectedly thrilled by the act. He could feel Spock above him, on him, moving to line up. He tried to spread his legs a little further apart. 

It was new. The first press was almost too much to bear, and then his body relaxed, he relaxed, let Spock into him. Spock slipped inside and then it was like nothing for a moment, and then he could feel Spock pressing deeper, and deeper, stretching him out far, further, too far. He groaned and pushed back, thinking  _ surely _ Spock couldn’t go on forever.

Spock bottomed out inside him, and McCoy choked. God, he was nearly sobbing. What was wrong with him? 

He hid his face and said, muffled by the sheets, “Go, go, just  _ go _ .”

Spock rocked back, and forward, and set a sedate, steady pace that had McCoy whimpering into the sheets. His toes curled up as he sought friction to push back, get more of Spock into him, make him go faster,  _ anything _ . He was out of his mind and they’d barely begun. 

The thought flashed in his mind to touch himself, but Spock’s hand was already there, the other still resting lightly on the back of his neck. He felt Spock’s long, deft fingers curl around his cock and stroke. He gasped and shivered. 

“Please, please Spock. Touch me. Yes, yes. There, please!” Gibberish. Embarrassed, he slammed his mouth shut, teeth clacking, and closed his eyes tightly. All he could do was hold on tight to the sheets as Spock pulled him apart, pleasured him. He was so full, the friction between them so precise. Spock’s hand on his cock knew just how to twist, keeping perfect time with his thrusts.

Pleasure roiled inside him, pulled back, and rushed him all at once, cresting. He tried to smother his moan as he came all over Spock’s hand, dirtied him.

Spock kept moving for a few more strokes as the aftershocks died down, and then he went still.

McCoy was having trouble breathing. He saw stars from how tightly he had closed his eyes.

As he got himself under control, Spock delicately extricated himself and pulled away. Blearily, McCoy turned to look at him as he slid off the bed.

“I must wash,” Spock said simply, and disappeared into the bathroom.

McCoy felt cold.

His skin prickled. He felt hyper aware of the sound of the sonic sink running. He sat up in bed and looked at where Spock had gone, incredulous as he came down from his orgasm.

He was uncertain what to do. Should he get dressed? His scrubs were neatly folded on top of Spock’s clothes. He definitely didn’t want to put his scrubs back on, but Spock would need to move them to get at his own clothes. In a sudden panic, McCoy realized that Spock would likely want to get dressed immediately. There was no reason for him to stay. Spock would need clothes so he could leave.

McCoy grabbed his scrubs and shoved them into his bedside dresser. There, now they were out of the way. But it didn’t fix the fact that he was naked and confused. What if he got dressed and Spock was offended by that? After all, he was pretty sure Spock hadn’t come a second time (not that he could totally tell), which meant Spock might still want him. So he shouldn’t get dressed.

He tried to put the brakes on his frenetic thoughts. He was worrying a lot over nothing at all. Spock wanted him, and said he wanted him. Spock had openly said he wanted to have sex with him.

Only, he hadn’t said that exactly, had he? He hadn’t said, “have sex,” which could have implied a one-night stand, a fling. But he hadn’t said, “make love” or anything incontrovertible like that. He’d said, “copulate.” McCoy knew that had different connotations, but he couldn’t remember what they were. Was it more or less serious than simple sex?

Maybe this was just a one night stand. 

McCoy knew instantly that he didn’t want that. If someone had asked him before (Jim, he thought, only Jim would be brazen enough to ask) whether he wanted to sleep with Spock on the regular, he would have had them in for a full examination. Everyone wanted to sleep with Spock occasionally, he assumed, but making it a regular thing? That was absurd. The only person who’d ever chipped away at that cold, Vulcan exterior enough to get close to “regular” had had her heart—

McCoy stopped.

He took a deep breath.

He considered.

For a second, it all seemed very clear. This whole night, everything, was merely Spock rebounding from his breakup with Uhura. The thought made McCoy sick, and then he felt sicker at the next logical leap: maybe it  _ wasn’t _ a rebound. Maybe his mere existence had contributed to their breakup. He felt ill; he didn’t want that, didn’t want any of that.

He needed to get dressed. McCoy started to stand just as Spock walked back into the room.

Spock looked at him, a little line of concern showing at his brow. He had cleaned up and put himself away, and seemed remarkably put together despite being totally nude.

McCoy tried to hide whatever was showing on his face. “Spock,” he said, and then he wasn’t sure what else to say, so he stopped.

Spock took a step towards him, hesitated, and then seemed to steel his nerves. He strolled forward without further preamble and clambered back into McCoy’s bed to kiss him. 

McCoy let it happen, confused. “How was your—” He stopped. He cleared his throat. “Was it all...satisfactory?”

Spock didn’t answer right away. He just kissed him again. “Leonard, you appear distressed.”

“I’m fine,” he said instantly. He couldn’t possibly explain his thoughts to Spock, jumbled up as they were. And some part of him didn’t want to know if they were true. “Just drained. I’m tired.”

“I see.” Spock seemed to take him at his word, but McCoy couldn’t tell. He began to rearrange the blankets. He grabbed the pillow, which was still slightly damp. McCoy blinked, feeling fully disconnected from that spot. Had that really happened?

Spock took off the pillow case and lay it on the floor. He lay his head on the bare pillow and looked up. McCoy realized, gradually, that he was just sitting and staring at Spock. Spock reached up to him and took hold of his arm, gently pulling him down. He went without struggle.

“Leonard, may I stay with you this evening?”

“...I… Sure, Spock. That’s fine.” Belatedly, it occurred to him that he could have teased Spock about already making himself at home. He didn’t feel up to it.

“Computer, lights three percent.” Obediently, the computer dimmed the lights.

Spock tugged him close and rested a hand on the small of his back. McCoy kept his eyes open, staring into the dark. He could hear Spock breathing steadily, serenely. That more than anything calmed him enough to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "McCoy gulped, hard" is the best zeugma I have ever written.
> 
> Spock's shirt basically says "little flower." He's a romantic at heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

The lights in Sickbay were dim. Uhura turned her face to the ceiling to let McCoy look at her throat. Altamid had affected her more than he’d realized, and had given her a terrible case of  _ syreni febris _ . Overnight, it had robbed her of her voice. She was tough; she’d make it through this. But McCoy knew that this disease had a low recovery rate. He didn’t want to give her false hope.

The door chimed and when he looked over Spock was already walking in. “Doctor,” he said, coming to stand near them with his hands folded behind his back. “Have you seen the Captain recently?”

“No. Spock, I’m busy. I can’t talk to you. Go wait in line.” He pointed to the row of security officers which were lined up along one wall of the sickbay. 

“I was next in line, Doctor,” Spock said.

That felt true, but McCoy shook his head. “I can’t; I need to help Uhura.”

Spock ignored his words. He leaned in and kissed McCoy with his arms still folded behind his back.

McCoy was still watching Uhura even as Spock kissed him. She had started crying, which meant the disease was entering its late stages. He had to operate immediately. He pulled away from Spock and quickly lay her down on the biobed. All of the bars on the scanner dropped rapidly; she was dying of a myocardial infarction.

He didn’t have time to get his surgical gear, so instead he pushed one hand through her chest and pulled out her heart. He looked at it worriedly. It wasn’t moving.

“She requires a transplant,” Spock told him matter-of-factly. “Because you are useless, you are incapable of performing the procedure to a satisfactory degree. She will die.”

“Can you do it?” he asked Spock.

“Of course. However, I am busy looking for the Captain. I have not the time, inclination, nor the necessary organ to complete the transfer.”

“Just do it, Spock!” Desperately, he pulled out his own heart, which was a small blue stone. He had trouble getting it out of his body because it was connected to him by a thin chain. Frustrated, he yanked at it and it began to splinter in his hands. “Spock, help me! Take this and don’t let her die!”

Spock’s mouth curled into a moue of distaste at the sight of McCoy’s heart in his hands. “I do not want that,” he said, turning his back on McCoy. “Get it out of my sight.”

McCoy jerked awake.

His pulse was rapid in his ear and he felt caged, flighty. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, his nightmare still feeling almost tangibly real despite its absurdity. He jumped as he felt a hand touch his arm.

“Are you well, Leonard?”

McCoy rolled over and looked up at Spock, who was gazing down at him with concern written plainly on his face. He was wearing a brown robe loosely over his shoulders, and he looked different than McCoy remembered. After a second, McCoy realized that was because Spock had washed off his makeup. 

It was enough to tell him that this was reality. “I’m fine,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Just...a dream.” He looked up again as Spock began to brush his hair back and away from his face. 

Spock looked like he was about to say something, but he stopped himself. The corner of his mouth twitched up, barely perceptible. “It is good you are unharmed,” he said finally. He brushed his fingers through McCoy’s hair again and leaned down, kissing McCoy softly.

McCoy’s heart soared at the action. He was beginning to wake up fully now. His worries from last night had not gone away—if anything, they had been compounded by his dream—but it did feel nice to know that Spock had stuck around and was willing to keep kissing him. He sighed, surprised at how refreshing it was to kiss Spock. In fact, Spock was minty fresh.

He pulled back to frown at Spock. “Are Vulcans really so impeccable they don’t even have morning breath?” he demanded.

Spock looked inexplicably delighted, although his face was the same smooth mask as ever. “It is illogical to assume such a thing. It is only that I have already performed my morning ablutions.” 

“That explains the robe,” McCoy muttered. He tried to subtly catch a whiff of his own breath, feeling self-conscious. “Well, I should...do the same. Excuse me.”

He started to roll out of bed and realized he was still naked halfway through. He felt himself grow hot with a violent blush. Without thinking, he gathered up the top blanket and kept it curled around himself to hide his shame. And he did feel shameful as he crossed the room to the dresser and pulled out the first set of clothes his hand fell upon. He thought he could sense Spock’s gaze following him, but he wasn’t sure if it was paranoia or not. He didn’t turn to check.

In the bathroom, with the door closed and set to privacy mode, he leaned heavily against the sink. He let the blanket pool on the ground by his feet as he looked into the mirror. “Dr. McCoy, you are a cantankerous worrywort,” he told his reflection. His reflection stared back, looking a bit terrified. He had the thought that he wasn’t really much to look at.

He scrubbed at his teeth furiously. He thought about taking a shower, as he normally did in the morning, but the idea that Spock might slip away kept him from it. Even now Spock might be getting dressed and carefully rehearsing Earth-style platitudes. Or maybe he wouldn’t even try to be polite about it; that wasn’t very logical, after all. 

McCoy ran a little water in the sink, since he preferred that to sonic washing and the  _ Yorktown _ had resources to spare. He cleaned his face of stubble and sleep-grime. He dressed in the plain, slate-grey shirt and black trousers he had grabbed. He had forgotten underwear, and he scolded himself for that but didn’t go back out for a pair. 

He expected Spock to be dressed and gone already, but when he exited the bathroom Spock was still sitting on the bed reading a PADD. He looked up at McCoy curiously.

McCoy threw the blanket back on the bed and stood there awkwardly. He was feeling emotionally stable enough now to talk about this, although he wasn’t sure what to say. He needed a safe and neutral environment to have this conversation in, and Spock in a loosely-tied robe on his bed didn’t feel safe or neutral at all. “Good reading?” he asked finally, indicating the PADD with a nod of his head.

Spock’s right eyebrow rose slightly. “This is my final report to Starfleet regarding our experience on Altamid. I am reviewing for grammatical errors, not for its potential as a riveting storytelling.”

“You brought your work with you?” McCoy asked.

Spock’s eyebrow rose a little higher. “I anticipated staying the night.”

McCoy didn’t know what to do with that. “Spock are you...hungry?” He normally didn’t eat so early in the morning, but sitting at the table felt safer than this. “I could go for some coffee.”

“I will join you.” 

Spock set his PADD on the table and rose gracefully from the bed, rearranging his robe as he stood. McCoy glanced away at all the flashes of skin as Spock tightened the belt. 

McCoy went to the replicator and punched in an order of coffee for himself. “What’ll you have?” he asked Spock.

“Nutritional supplement number seven,” Spock said instantly and then, upon registering McCoy’s incredulous look he added belatedly, “And a glass of water, 50-degrees.”

“You actually want to eat little red cubes for breakfast?” McCoy spluttered. 

Spock sat a little straighter at the table, despite sitting impossible straight already. “The nutritional supplements contain necessary vitamins, minerals, fiber, and protein while being inoffensive to the palate.”

“If by ‘inoffensive’ you mean ‘flavorless gruel.’” McCoy took a drink of his coffee just to remember what flavor was. He felt a bit better then. “Spock, the only reason anyone ever eats that garbage is because on a starship we don’t have many other options.”

“That is a human reason. As a Vulcan, I recognize that it is logical not to expend energy and time on deciding one’s morning meal when adequate meals are already available. Professional nutritionists have already assessed meal choices designed for optimal health.”

“Why, Spock. I believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about a doctor.”

Spock paused, clearly replaying their conversation in his head. “I meant only to acknowledge the logical reasons I have had not to investigate meal construction. It is not my area of expertise.”

“And now you’re admitting something you don’t know. This is truly a momentous day!” At his words, Spock looked perturbed, which made McCoy laugh. He was feeling better now. “Tell you what, Spock. Since about half of the nutritional meal supplements we use in deep space were designed by me anyway, how about I chose your meal this morning? I promise it’ll be nutritionally sound.”

“...That is not necessary—”

“Doctor’s orders, then. I’m ordering you to experience some comfort food, you get me?”

Spock observed him for a moment before finally acquiescing. “It is acceptable.” 

Feeling chipper, McCoy turned back to the replicator. He scanned through it and found what he wanted, but a quick look at the recipe told him it had been programed by someone who didn’t understand the joys of butter. He adjusted the recipe, also making it vegetarian. He ordered two plates and then Spock’s water. He’d save arguing about the ridiculousness of drinking plain, lukewarm water for another day.

“Here we have it, Spock,” he said, placing the plates down with a flourish. “Biscuits and gravy.”

Spock eyed the meal dubiously, but he did pick up his fork and knife. “The color is interesting,” he commented, as if he had been searching for something kind to say.

“Sort of gross brown-grey really does it for you, huh? I figured you like that,” McCoy teased. He broke off a chunk of biscuit with the side of his fork and ate it with relish. It was better than he’d expected. Not precisely like home-made, and certainly nothing like what his grandmother used to make, but still good. Comforting.

Spock took a tepid bite and, evidently deciding it wasn’t going to kill him, began to eat steadily. He cut off little pieces with delicate precision and applied identical amounts of gravy to each bite. 

McCoy drank the rest of his coffee and managed to eat about half of a biscuit. He told himself he might as well get it over with. “Spock, I think we should talk about last night.”

Spock nodded. “If you wish.” He continued to eat for a moment as McCoy sat, shocked to silence. Finally, Spock glanced up at him.

“I am listening, Leonard.”

McCoy scoffed and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. “With those ears of yours I’m amazed you can do anything else.” He recognized the acerbic statement as a defense mechanism and tried to shake it off. “I’m serious here, Spock. What is...what is happening between us?”

“I believe I have made my intentions clear. Our experiences together last night has not changed my opinion of you.”

“That’s not—” McCoy felt his face growing hot. How could he explain that nothing Spock said made any sense?

“Perhaps,” Spock said after a moment of watching McCoy struggle for words. “You do not believe me? As I have made clear in the past, Vulcans do not lie.”

“Ambassador Spock seemed pretty capable of lying from time to time.”

Spock looked almost...proud? “Ambassador Spock was perhaps more skilled in the art of careful misdirection than I.”

“So, he lied.”

“He omitted certain facts which may or may not have resulted in a different final conclusion had they been made available. However, he was also, as I believe you would say, ‘brutally honest’ whenever possible. I have attempted to live my life by this same metric.”

“How do I know you’re not just confused yourself?”

Spock considered for a moment. When he spoke, it wasn’t what McCoy had expected. “Have you finished your meal, Leonard?”

“What?” McCoy looked down at his plate. It was growing cold. “Yes, I suppose. I don’t normally eat much in the morning. What are you…?”

As he floundered, Spock carefully wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin. He stood, robe falling neatly into place around him. “I can see that I have already been negligent. I must renew my efforts.”

“Renew?” 

He didn’t answer. He strode around the table towards McCoy and, upon reaching him, spun his chair around to they were facing. He had to lift McCoy and the chair from the ground to do it, gently settling them back down before McCoy even had a chance to yell. McCoy gulped, looking up at Spock, who gazed down at him fondly.

He dropped his robe to the ground and stood before McCoy, naked. “May I continue to be honest with you?”

McCoy stared. He nodded.

“I wish to copulate with you again. Is this acceptable?”

“I-I, I guess so?” McCoy almost slapped himself over such a terrible answer. He wanted Spock. Their sex the night before had been awkward and nerve wracking on his end, but being with Spock had felt exhilarating nonetheless. He did want that again. He just felt conflicted about it. Maybe Spock didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe this was the emotional desperation of a rebound after a bad breakup. Whatever it was, at that moment McCoy decided there wasn’t much he could do about it. He decided to act a little selfishly and put his trust in Spock for once. 

McCoy placed his hands on Spock’s hips and pulled him closer. He was about eye-level with Spock’s stomach, so he kissed him there. Spock sighed at the contact. He placed a hand on McCoy’s chin and tipped his face up. Spock knelt down, kissing McCoy lightly along the way. 

Spock looked strange kneeling on the ground between McCoy’s legs, but he was very beautiful. McCoy touched his hair, the side of his face, one arched eyebrow. He knew Vulcans had sensitive faces, although he wasn’t sure how sensitive. He kept his touch light and exploratory.

Spock began unfastening the front of his pants. “I am afraid that that my expertise in this area may be...less than satisfactory,” Spock said hurriedly. “Please do not withhold instruction if you deem it necessary.”

“You want me to tell you how to suck me off?” McCoy asked, momentarily thrown. Of all the things that he had expected, this was not one of them. 

Spock seemed almost insulted. “I have done as you have done, Leonard, and researched this area extensively. However, it has been my experience in the past that research does not necessarily translate to practical application.”

McCoy quashed the urge to tease Spock about admitting another thing he didn’t know. He wanted to ask if that meant Spock hadn’t been bouncing around  _ Yorktown _ sowing his wild oats with every Tom, Dick, and Harry--but he quashed that urge as well. Instead, he took Spock’s face in his hands and looked down at him fondly. “You’re going to do fine, darlin’. I’m here with you.”

Spock shivered so slightly that McCoy would have missed it if he hadn’t been holding on to him. He redoubled his efforts to get McCoy’s trousers open, raising an eyebrow when he encountered no underwear.

“Give me a break,” McCoy muttered.

“I have not said anything at all, Leonard.” Spock did not smile, but the affection was clear in his voice. 

McCoy took a deep breath to steel himself as Spock pulled out his soft cock. Spock eyed him with curiosity, gently stroking him with one hand while the other splayed over his leg. “Spock,” McCoy said, annoyed at how breathy he sounded. He bit the inside of his lip as he filled out in Spock’s hand. “Are you sure…?”

“I believe the next step is to provide stimulation with the tongue and lips.”

“Yes, just--Mm!” He jumped as Spock flattened his tongue over his cock, licking his way up. His lips were soft, his tongue slick and slightly rough. It made McCoy shiver with each pass. “Ooh, that’s good.”

Spock moved neither quickly nor slowly; rather, he took a methodical approach. He worked his way up McCoy’s cock and kissed the tip, twirling his tongue around the tip, dropping his lips around the head just enough to get a taste, and then pulling back. He never stayed in one place long enough to establish a pattern. Dim and fuzzy-headed, McCoy realized that Spock was experimenting on him. Benign, perhaps, but still an experiment. 

“Good Lord, Spock, are you toying with me?”

Spock paused, lips resting lightly against his shaft, and peered up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I am doing nothing of the sort,” he said. His voice sounded rough. “Would you prefer a different tactic?”

“Just…” McCoy blushed, hating his fair complexion and delicate sensibility more than anything. “Suck me, alright?”

Spock obeyed instantly, taking McCoy into his mouth. McCoy jerked in surprise. He tugged at Spock’s hair, encouraging him. He liked the way his fingers tangled Spock’s hair, messing up the neat strands. 

“Mm, yeah, just like that...a little more pressure with the lips--watch the teeth...yeah, that’s, that’s good, Spock.” He muttered platitudes as Spock suckled at him. He was still going painfully, maddeningly slow no matter how many times McCoy asked him to go faster, just a little bit faster,  _ please, Spock, faster. _ But the gentle incessant pressure was definitely getting a rise of McCoy. He could feel the pleasure building and coiling inside him, steadily winding up. He didn’t want to come in Spock’s mouth without warning, so he pulled him away.

“Hang on, just hang on.”

“You are nearing an orgasm?” Spock asked. He sounded intrigued by the prospect.

McCoy frowned at him. “Yes, I am. I don’t want to just come in your mouth without your permission. I know how unpleasant that can be. Just, let me catch my breath.”

“I will not,” Spock said without pause. He lapped at McCoy’s cock again once, twice, and McCoy shivered each time. He expected Spock to swallow him down again, but instead Spock stood up. 

He placed one foot on the edge of McCoy’s chair, perfectly opening himself up. McCoy admired his lean body, slightly flushed with exertion and lust. Spock tangled his hands in McCoy’s hair and drew his head forward to his groin. “Use your mouth on me,” he said, half a request and half a command. “As you did last night.”

McCoy didn’t give himself anymore time to catch his breath before he plunged right in. He sucked at the little lok, flicking his tongue over it. He had the thought that he should do what he’d done in the past with human clitorisis and spell out the alphabet with his tongue. He wondered how far through the Vulcan alphabet he could get before Spock noticed, but he decided against it. Not knowing the words meant he’d probably end up insulting Spock without realizing it.

Anyway, he didn’t need to worry about variety. Spock was already quivering slightly under his touch, and his cock began to poke out of his slit. McCoy started to reach for it, but Spock pushed his hand away.

He kept licking at the lok as Spock ran his hand over his erection with brusque efficiency, occasionally bumping McCoy’s chin in the process. Spock gathered up the slick his body was producing and reached behind himself.

“Oh.” McCoy forgot what he was doing. He looked up at Spock, who had his eyes shut very tight as he fingered himself. “Spock.”

Spock’s mouth was half-open as he panted. His movement were short, jerky. McCoy wondered just how close he was to throwing logic to the wind and just letting McCoy fuck him. “How would you prefer me, Leonard?”

Apparently, pretty damned close. With a growl, McCoy rose and crowded himself into Spock’s space, pressing himself up against Spock’s body and kissing him, kissing him. He bit at Spock’s lips and Spock let him, opened his mouth for him. Their cocks lined up and McCoy rubbed against him, staining the space between them with slick. Spock grabbed a handful of his hair with his unoccupied hand and savagely pulled him close, knocking himself off balance.

Awkwardly, they stumbled, and collapsed to the floor. McCoy ended up on top still rubbing against Spock as Spock twisted underneath him, one arm bent awkwardly behind him. They kissed raw and open, messy, until Spock turned his head away, breathing far too steadily. 

“Leonard, I am ready.”

“Are you sure?” McCoy asked, but he was pretty far gone himself so he didn’t ask again. He just trusted Spock’s nod. He took himself in hand and Spock lifted his hips, wrapping his legs around McCoy’s back and tugging him in close. “Just relax, just relax,” McCoy muttered nonsensically into Spock’s neck.

“I am relaxed,” Spock said, sounding almost frustrated.

McCoy laughed. “Now I know you’re capable of lying.” 

He pressed against Spock’s body, searching. A little higher than he expected, and then Spock was tugging him in with his legs and he slid inside Spock, gasping. 

“Oh, god, Spock you’re so  _ hot _ .” 

They tangled together on the ground, Spock’s hands grabbing at his back as he thrust. Spock’s cock was hard against his stomach and pinched between them, without even space for McCoy to get a hand in. Instead he grabbed Spock’s hips and lifted him slightly to give himself better leverage.

They were sliding on the floor as McCoy fucked into him. He could feel the strain of it in every fiber of his being as Spock held him close, muttering into his skin. At first McCoy thought he was just moaning, but he detected a hint of a pattern to the sounds. Words? He didn’t have the brainpower left to figure it out, so he ignored it in favor of breathing hot against Spock’s ear, growling before he could stop himself.

“How’s it feel, Spock?”

Spock made a tiny, stuttered sound. McCoy wanted to call it a mewl, but it was too controlled for that. Spock began to shiver beneath him, and tightened around him. 

“Spock, I’m getting close.”

“Good,” Spock said. He sounded enthralled. “Please come for me.”

He pushed hard, violent, against Spock as Spock twisted beneath him. McCoy fell into pieces. He heard himself gasping as if through a long tunnel. His skin was hot, burning wherever Spock touched him--which felt like everywhere, even through clothes. He came in short little stutters as Spock held him tight.

He tried not to collapse, but his arms gave out before the crescendo even burst.

He felt like he passed out for a moment, because next thing he knew Spock was kissing the side of his face. Weakly, he managed to haul himself up again. “Sorry,” he said suddenly.

Spock just looked at him. “...For what reason are you apologizing?”

“For, uh.” He wasn’t totally sure. “For squashing you.”

Spock gave one of his not-smiles in answer. “There was no harm done. And an apology—”

“I know, I know. Not logical.” He laughed, giddy.

He felt a bit light-headed as they disentangled their limbs. Spock was upright first. “I must wash,” he said, and took a step towards the bathroom door.

“Me, too,” McCoy said with a wince. His shirt and pants were pretty much drenched from how much Spock had leaked all over them. 

The Vulcan didn’t even have the decency to look chagrined. He merely stood and waited for McCoy to rise, swearing and grunting as his knees and back complained about the sudden roughness they had been forced to endure. Spock placed a hand on his arm to help him, and McCoy grinned at him without thinking.

“You could at least look embarrassed. I’m the one who has to send this shirt out to wash.”

Spock eyed him dubiously as they walked to the bathroom. “You may wish to simply replicate another.”

“Why?” He looked at his front. It was wet, and a bit sticky and cold, but nothing a cleaner couldn’t take care of. Spock gave him a glance that told him the front wasn’t the problem, so he turned around to look in the mirror.

McCoy had to stare for a moment, processing. The back of his shirt looked like it had been through a warp core set to the “spin” cycle. The fabric was stretched and ripped in some places in long lines. He already knew what he would find underneath, but he was still surprised when he pulled off his shirt and saw neat little rows of fingernail scratches.

He turned to Spock incredulously, but Spock wasn’t looking at him. He was carefully washing himself and inserting his penis back into his sheath. McCoy looked away quickly, embarrassed at the sudden intimacy.

Of course, it wasn’t that sudden. McCoy splashed some water on his face and toweled off his dick. He thought about it as he went back into the main room to change clothes. He realized he didn’t exactly know what counted as intimate for a Vulcan. Sex seemed to elicit some interesting reactions from Spock, but he certainly wasn’t prudish about it. Nor had he seemed embarrassed by McCoy potentially seeing him clean himself off after the fact. The only thing he had seemed nervous about were the scratch marks on McCoy’s back.

McCoy snorted. That was just typical. Spock didn’t give a rat’s ass about “copulating” with the chief medical officer, unless it got to the point of potentially revealing some emotion. 

He got dressed again, remembering underwear this time. He thought about putting some salve on his back but he couldn’t reach it very well, and wasn’t sure about asking Spock to help him. They didn’t really hurt, anyway, being barely surface scratches. 

Spock exited the bathroom looking perfectly put together, as always. He frowned at McCoy, who tried not to look at how naked he was. Seeming to sense his distress, Spock retrieved his robe and put it on. He hovered by the table looking pensive until McCoy finally snapped.

“What?”

“Did I injure you, Doctor?”

McCoy noticed the name switch, but didn’t comment. “Dammit, Spock. You can’t hurt me. Don’t you dare start acting intractable now. And you better not be thinking about handling me with bullshit kid-gloves. I’m not some kind of fine china.”

Spock looked almost relieved at his bitching. “Indeed you are not. I will endeavor to be less careful.”

“Oh, and now you’re mocking me. That’s just great,” McCoy said, but he was smiling. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt...lighter. It was weird. He coughed into his fist and glanced at the chronometer for something to do, surprised at how late it was getting. “Listen, Spock. I have a few things I need to take care of before this afternoon. I’ve got more crewmembers who will be looking for examinations.”

“I see.” Spock bowed his head and started for the bedside table.

Sensing he was planning to leave, McCoy’s mouth spoke without first consulting his brain. “Would you like to stay a little longer? We could...work together?” The very phrase seemed to mock him. 

But Spock nodded. “It is logical not to expend further time walking back to my quarters when my work can be done anywhere.”

“Oh, knock it off and sit down.”

They sat together on McCoy’s little couch. He was eerily reminded of the night before—had it only been that long ago? He shook off the feeling and instead started in on entering the data on his PADDs. 

Two lieutenants and an ensign had sent him requests to be cleared for duty, so he tackled their files first. Easy enough, since they had nothing wrong with them. He hoped they weren’t planning to spend the whole stay working, but then he couldn’t really stop them if they did. 

He had a certain sense of guilt as he entered Uhura’s data next. She had been healthy and happy to talk to him yesterday. Would the same be true after…? He shook off the feeling. Uhura was an understanding and kind person. And anyway, it was unlikely she would ever have to find out about the tryst he was having with Spock.

He glanced over at Spock, who was deeply enthralled with his own work. McCoy thought about just asking the real question that was on his mind: are we dating? Is this just sex? Do you want to spend the rest of your unnaturally long life with me? He shook off the feeling and turned back to his work. He could ask Spock later, maybe.

He got to Sulu’s files and frowned. He thought he had entered the information immediately after the examination, but here there were more scans. With a smile, he recalled that Demora had taken these scans. He thought about deleting them, since they were redundant, but he had a soft spot for the kid. Probably Sulu would like to know that his file contained information collected by his daughter.

McCoy pulled up Sulu’s file to save the scans, and then he froze. He shook his head, thinking he was losing it. He switched back between the files.

He jerked forward, leaning over the PADD as he frantically compared the files.

“Leonard?” Spock asked him. “Are you well?”

He didn’t answer. He compared the files. Here. Yes. And there, too. And another point just above—the scans were different. Taken less than a minute apart, both within normal range, yet very, very different.

He stood up and lunged for his comm. He dialed Sulu and waited nervously for the man to answer.

Sulu did, looking haggard. McCoy could hear Demora yelling loudly in the background. “Doctor,” he said by way of greeting. “Can this wait? Demora is not happy about—”

“It can’t wait,” McCoy said immediately. “Sulu, there is something wrong with your scans that I didn’t notice yesterday. You need to come down to the medical center immediately.”

Sulu looked disturbed. He looked over his shoulder to where McCoy guessed Ben and Demora were arguing over the things little kids liked to goad their parents over. “What’s wrong?” Sulu asked. 

“I’m not sure yet. I need to run more tests.”

“What do I tell them?”

McCoy felt his heart squeeze at the question. He affected his best old-country-doctor smile. “Sulu, I’m sure everything is fine. I just need to double check. Like I said yesterday, this could just be a case of the bends. But I want to be sure.”

Sulu nodded curtly, still looking frustrated. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. Sulu out.”

The screen went blank and then displayed the Starfleet logo.

McCoy scrubbed his face with his hands and stood up. He nearly tripped over himself when he saw Spock had stood as well, and was examining him carefully.

“Lieutenant Sulu—”

“He’ll be fine,” McCoy interrupted. “I have to get to the medical center. Spock, I.” He didn’t know what to say. He had to shake off the urge to grab Spock and kiss him. Or worse, ask him to come with. “I’ll be back soon.”

He slipped on his boots and rushed out the door, leaving Spock standing, stoic and silent, in the center of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious: at what point did you realize it was a dream? (The disease is "mermaid syndrome" according to google translate.)


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy arrived at the medical center in record time. His nurses weren’t around, so he paged them and then began to pace as he waited for Sulu. He straightened up a few things on his desk, arranged the medical tricorders in anticipation of Sulu’s arrival, washed his hands, arranged the tricorders again. He stood there with his hands on his hips, thinking. Then he arranged the tricorders a third time.

Sulu finally arrived looking haggard and tired. “Sorry for the delay, Doc. Demora has been...having some trouble adjusting to me being back.”

McCoy gestured to the biobed and Sulu hopped up on it. “She seemed pretty pleased to have you here yesterday.” He kept his voice steady, concentrating hard on the small talk as he began to scan Sulu.

Sulu sighed and smiled. “I know. She’s like that. One minute I can’t get her to stop hugging me, the next she’s asking Ben why I’m—” his smile fell. “Why I’m staying with them. This morning she started crying because he sat by me instead of her at breakfast, and then as soon as I had to leave she refused to let me.”

“Your daughter missed you,” McCoy said softly. “But she’s just a kid. She doesn’t know how to interact with you yet. Give it time.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Sulu looked down at the scanners. “So, what’s the prognosis?”

McCoy took a deep breath. He let it out. “It’s not good.” He pulled open the scanner and a little holographic projector showed a map of Sulu’s brain. “Here is the scan I took from you yesterday. Well within your normal range. And here is the scan Demora took. Within  _ a _ normal range, but not yours. See the difference?”

Sulu leaned in, squinting at the image. “Barely.”

“This is the scan I just took.”

Sulu went still.

“The difference between the first two was not that great, but it shouldn’t have happened at all. People just don’t change that rapidly from one minute to the next. And now…” He considered the data. “If you were seventy years older and a tenth as healthy, I would say this is the beginning of dementia. But even then the onset wouldn’t be this fast.”

“What’s causing it?”

“Nothing could cause this.” McCoy folded up the scanner and considered. “I need to run some more tests, see if I can figure out what’s going on and if any other organs are affected. I think you should call your family and tell them you’re going to be here for a while.”

Sulu deflated, but he did nod.

McCoy’s tests and scans did not turn up any good news. Sulu’s liver, left kidney, stomach, upper intestine, and heart were all affected by the strange disease. From the outside he seemed healthy and spry enough, but inside he was rotting. McCoy had no idea why only some organs were affected; those that were just seemed to be weakening at an alarming rate. Compared to his last full physical, Sulu had a 17% reduction in major organ health. The kicker was that the reductions didn’t seem to be happening steadily. There were no further changes as McCoy scanned him, but clearly his body had been decaying a great deal since yesterday.

He had Sulu do some strength exercises and found that his legs were 10% weaker than at his last physical, and that he could no longer turn his head all the way to the right. He stopped part way with a twinge of pain.

For some reason that was the thing that made Sulu the most frightened. “I didn’t even notice that.”

“You noticed the rest?”

“No, not exactly.” Sulu stared at the floor. “I’ve just been feeling fatigued. I thought it was the stress of trying to transition back to space station life. The rhythm of things is so different here. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“And not just because of Ben?” He tried to keep his voice light, to lessen some of the tension.

Sulu looked up at him. “Doc, what am I going to tell him?”

McCoy sighed. “I can give him my medical opinion, but I can’t tell you what to say to him. Sulu, I would like to keep you here overnight for observation. I still don’t know why this is happening, but I believe it’s happening in short, intense bursts. Since you’ve been here you’ve had no changes in any of your readings, but obviously you  _ were  _ changing before. There may be another spike in readings and if I can catch it I may be able to determine what’s causing this.”

“Alright, I’ll stay.” He didn’t sound too happy about it.

“Do you have any idea what might be causing this? Did you encounter anything strange on Altamid, or in the  _ Franklin _ ?”

Sulu shook his head, but then he paused. “Wait, yes. When we were being held Krall tried to use his energy-draining technology on me to get the crew to reveal the location of the weapon. But he stopped before he did any damage.”

“How does the technology work?”

“I couldn’t really tell, and he wasn’t about to share. It seemed like he was wearing it as as a suit. All I know is he would grab the back of a person’s neck and then he would...change, physically. It seemed like taking their energy altered him to look like them. Uhura got a better look at it than I did. There might be something more in her report.”

McCoy nodded. “I’ll check it out. In the meantime, let’s get you settled in.”

He hooked Sulu up to every alarmed scanner the medical center had. After, Sulu looked a bit like a cyborg with all the bits of technology hanging off of him. McCoy assigned Nurse Abel to watch over him as well. 

Then he went into his office and pulled up Uhura’s logs. 

Uhura had always been prone to verbal communication. She filed her logs as voice and visual recordings even when written logs would have been faster. McCoy accessed the first log after Altamid and Uhura’s serene face appeared. It looked as though she’d logged this while on the  _ Yorktown _ . Her quarters, what he could see of them behind her head, were indeed identical to his.

“Communications officer’s log, Lieutenant Uhura reporting. This log will focus on three major events. First, the unexpected jamming of our communications signals upon entering the Altamid system, which was later determined to be simply excessive communication clouding the airwaves. I have suggestions to avoid such a jamming in the future. Second, my report on the destructive power of Krall’s ‘Abronath’ and his related life-stealing technology. Finally, my recommendation for Ensign Syl to receive a commendation after losing her life in defense of the the  _ Enterprise _ .”

McCoy had to smile to himself. Uhura’s log was so well organized. His own logs were always rambling messes, meandering along as ideas occurred and reoccurred to him. He would pick up threads of narrative and put them down again without thinking. Usually he had to reopen them after a glass of brandy and list off points he’d forgotten. He’d never begun a log with his main points stated up front. But, it made it easier to skip ahead to the pressing matters. 

He skipped to the middle of a sentence. “--’Abronath’,” Uhura was saying. “Is discussed in more detail in my supplementary log. Loosely defined, it means  _ consume _ or  _ scatter. _ It is a verb, but don’t tell Krall that. His over-dramatic self felt the need to use it like a proper noun, as though it was a thing. This may be because  _ abronath _ has different roots than the language they spoke the majority—” McCoy skipped ahead again. “--the technology Krall used to steal life seemed to be related to abronath. 

“The technology was worn as an arm-covering suit. There were many moving parts whose purpose I couldn’t identify. However, by placing his hand on the back of a person’s neck he could absorb their energy. It killed them.” Uhura paused a moment, barely perceptible. Her eyes dropped down, then back up. “It was not a fast death. As he absorbed their energy, Krall’s features changed. When we first encountered him he had ridges on his face and grey skin, but at times during the transformation he looked almost human. I recognized his voice on the  _ Franklin  _ holovid. His voice hardly changed, though it did seem harder for him to speak when his teeth got in the way. It is my theory that the life energy he was absorbing was in fact living, replicating DNA. Infusion of new DNA have been shown to prolong life and promote youtful looks on other planets, and this may be a similar technology.”

McCoy blinked, surprised. It made sense, given what they knew. 

“That said…” Uhura took a deep breath. “Krall left the technology on the  _ Franklin _ after killing two crew members. As far as I know, that technology hasn’t been recovered.” She leaned towards the camera. “But it must have been. It is my opinion that  _ any _ investigation into attempting to replicate this technology can only lead to disaster. If Starfleet has acquired it, it should be immediately destroyed. I recognize that I am a lowly Lieutenant, but please trust my opinion in this matter. Using the technology drove Captain Edison insane. No good can come from this.”

Disturbed, McCoy turned off the recording. He wanted to chalk Uhura’s words up to paranoia, but he knew what Starfleet was capable of. He’d been there with Khan, after all. If they did have the tech it would behind a thousand security doors, and there was no way his clearance would be high enough to access it. 

But it was also Sulu’s best chance.

He drafted a letter to the station Commodore explaining his concerns and Sulu’s illness. He kept his words casual and professional, and then requested access to the technology. He sent it before he could talk himself out of it.

Uhura’s log contained a few supplemental materials, including a drawing she had done of the tech. It didn’t tell McCoy much, but at least he knew what it looked like.

With a sigh, McCoy rubbed at his face. He was tired. A glance at the clock told him it was well into the afternoon now. He hadn’t cancelled his appointments with the crew, which meant they were probably lining up outside. Well, he wasn’t getting much done just sitting here fretting. He grabbed his scanner and rose to finish giving the crew physicals.

He kept himself busy. He replicated a sandwich around dinner time and it languished there on his desk with one bite taken out of it. The crew were all healthy, if not happy. He doled out sleeping medication, counseling referrals, and frustrated commands in spades. When he was done with the crew, Sulu still hadn’t changed at all. 

He kept Sulu overnight and went to his office to file the records from the crew. He noted that Jim still hadn’t scheduled himself for an examination, and he sent the Captain a sternly worded comm that promised if he didn’t show up McCoy would give him a reason to visit the medical center. He said that for every hour Jim failed to make an appointment he would add another vaccination to the exam. He took a second bite of his sandwich. He received a letter from the station Commodore at 23:45 hours regretfully informing him that Starfleet had no idea what he was talking about and, if they did, it would be classified anyway.

Incensed, he record a verbal response. He pulled the camera close to his face and carefully listed all the ways that Starfleet was a stupid, fucked-up, backwards organization that cared more about covering its  _ ass _ ets than it did about taking care of its valuable and amazing people. He cussed out the Commodore as well as everyone above her who had allowed this to happen, and then he swore he would help Sulu without the assistance of “idiot bureaucrats who wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘do no harm’ if it bit ‘em in the ass!”

He sent the message, which had taken twenty minutes to record and sat there breathing heavily.

In the doorway, Spock cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better, Doctor?”

McCoy whipped around to look at him. “How long have you been there?”

“Eleven-point-two minutes,” Spock responded smoothly.

That meant he’d missed the part where McCoy had almost been civil. He deflated. “I still don’t know what’s wrong with Sulu.”

Spock nodded. He entered the office and stood over the desk with his hands folded behind his back. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“...Respectfully, Doctor, I have come to take you home.”

“What?” McCoy glared up at him. “I can’t leave when I’ve got a patient!”

“I spoke with Lieutenant Sulu. His condition remains unchanged and he has informed me that it is your opinion that you have hit an impasse until a change can be detected by your equipment. Staying here will not affect whether or not those changes happen. It will only ensure that, should they occur, you will be too exhausted to deal with them effectively.”

McCoy ground his teeth. “Mr. Spock sometimes your logic is truly deplorable.”

“From you, I consider that to be a compliment.”

McCoy laughed without humor. He dropped his head into his hands. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Indeed. Your agreement with my logic is but the latest symptom which confirms your exhaustion.” McCoy looked up to glare at him, but Spock was gazing down at him kindly. His eyes were softened around the edges. “Doctor, you are understandably irritable and angry. But much of this situation is outside your control. What is within your control is the ability to take care of yourself, to ensure that you will be at your optimal condition in the event of further disaster.”

McCoy gaped at him. He didn’t know what to say in the face of Spock being so understanding. 

Spock waited a moment and then inclined his head. “May I escort you to your quarters?”

With a sigh, McCoy nodded. “Let me check on Sulu again before we go.”

Sulu was dozing, and cranky when McCoy woke him to take a few final scans. Nurse Abel had left a while ago to run labs, and now Nurse Tian was watching over Sulu. McCoy gave the Troyian a few whispered instructions before leaving the medical center with Spock.

The  _ Yorktown _ was darkened for the night cycle. Starlight filtered in, and the walkways were lit from below, so they didn’t have to worry about tripping. McCoy thought he could see the nebula where so much damage had been done. It looked like a blurry fingerprint on the bubble of the station. 

He shivered, feeling uncomfortable. Despite how beautiful the station was, it was still just a ball in space. It didn’t feel safe.

“Are you cold, Doctor?”

“No,” McCoy said. “Just thinking about how we’re all a second away from explosive decompression.”

Spock’s eyebrow headed for his hairline. “That is extremely unlikely.”

“Yeah, and I bet a week ago you would have said a guy breaking into here with bioweapon was equally unlikely. Space is dangerous, Spock.”

“I must admit, Doctor, your choice of career continues to perplex me.”

“Why am I in space when it freaks me out so damn much?” He sighed. He realized he was walking very close to Spock and instead of moving away he sidled a little nearer. “Well, I didn’t have much of a choice at first. And now I’m stuck with it. I don’t have to like it, Spock. I just have to deal with it.”

“Is there nothing you enjoy about space exploration?”

McCoy looked at him. Spock’s face was impassive, but his low voice did things to McCoy’s heart. “You know how I feel,” he whispered back.

They walked in companionable silence. McCoy thought perhaps they were both thinking about the little parts of space exploration that  _ were _ enjoyable: dinner in the mess hall, surrounded by friends. A smooth drink courtesy of Mr. Scott after a long day. Making a positive change not just in one life on one planet, but in a thousand lives on a hundred worlds. Walking through Sulu’s hydroponics bay and hearing Uhura softly singing in Swahili. How excited the crew got at each new discovery, like kids discovering the new sweet flavor of chocolate. Chekov’s inevitable push to name every discovery after some Russian thing. The feeling of laughter echoing on the bridge. Jim’s smile and twinkling eyes when he realized they were all still alive. Still together. 

His heart ached.

At McCoy’s quarters he didn’t say anything, and Spock didn’t ask, but the both still walked in together. McCoy was tired. He drew on his night clothes with sleep-fumbled hands as Spock turned down the bed. 

He curled up under the covers without further complaint. He thought, as he fell asleep, that he felt Spock push his hair back from his forehead, gentle and kind.

___

He slept like a stone.

McCoy awoke all at once, feeling panicked without knowing why. He sat up and looked around his room.

Spock was sitting at the table, fiddling with a tricorder and some bits of metal. He looked up at McCoy and arched one judging eyebrow at him. “You have only slept for 4.7 hours, Leonard.”

“‘M fine,” he muttered, rubbing at his face. “Gotta go to thing.” He crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

Spock was still at the table when he emerged showered, dressed, and slightly more coherent. Spock frowned at him slightly. “I am certain that Lieutenant Sulu will not be expecting you back so soon. It is unlikely that he is even awake.”

“Well, I’m up now, anyway.” He checked his comm messages. Nothing from either of his nurses, but there was a priority message from Commodore Paris. He gulped, remembering his crass message to her the night before. He anticipated a stern reprimand at the least, perhaps even a loss of rank...He opened the message. 

It was merely a notification that he was to meet with the Commodore at 14:30 hours. 

Feeling relieved, like he’d just had a stay of execution, McCoy got himself a cup of coffee and glanced at what Spock was working on. He had no clue what he was looking at. Spock didn’t seem to notice his interest. At least, he didn’t volunteer an explanation.

McCoy pouted, wondering why Spock was ignoring him. Then he reconsidered. The very fact that Spock was still here must mean something. Spock could have left immediately, or not have come in at all. Clearly he got something out of staying near McCoy. The thought warmed his heart. He tried to ignore the feeling. It worried him. 

“Has the Captain scheduled himself for examination?” Spock asked.

McCoy stopped hovering and sat down. “No, and he probably won’t either until I go out and drag his ass in. Why?”

“I visited his quarters yesterday. He was not in.”

“He’s probably out seeing the sights.”

“I also attempted to contact him via communicator, and left a message on his home comm. He has not responded.”

“He might be out seeing...some other sights. You know.” He made an aborted, suggestive gesture with his hand. “He might not have been home to get that message, if you get me?”

Spock considered. “That had not occurred to me.”

“Really?” McCoy laughed. There was a certain irony in Spock—who was currently tucked away in quarters very much not his own with McCoy—not realizing that the Captain might be taking advantage of their stay at  _ Yorktown _ . “Well, if I know Jim he’s already got a line of ladies knocking at his door and he’s got to beat them off with a stick.”

Spock looked up at him. “A stick?”

“It’s not--it’s just a saying, Spock.” He sighed into his coffee. “Although I suppose some of them…” He stopped, not wanting to go down that road. Spock gave him a Look that told McCoy he knew exactly what was being implied. McCoy shook his head, amused. 

“Very well,” Spock said. “I will attempt to locate him via scanners later.”

“Awfully worried about him, aren’t you? Don’t think Jim can handle himself?”

“Do you?” Spock turned back to whatever it was he was working on.

McCoy had to agree with him there. “...Let me know what you find out.”

The early morning hour lulled him into a sense of security. He got his datapad and a second cup of coffee, drinking it slowly as he caught up on the latest news from around the galaxy. Spock was right; Sulu wouldn’t be awake for a while, and would only be annoyed if McCoy roused him so soon. 

It felt soothing just to sit at the table with Spock, each working on their own projects. He realized he hadn’t done this with anyone in a long time. On the  _ Enterprise  _ his quarters were just his. Or, at least they had been, he realized with a pang of longing for quarters he would never see again. He tamped the feeling down. Jim would stop by occasionally to shoot the shit, but they never did work together. And in the Academy he’d never been able to work with his roommate in the room, and when he’d gone home with other people their mornings had always been filled with either quick sex or a quicker farewell. Just sitting together was nice. Domestic. The last time he felt that…

“I should get to work.” He stood up.

Spock did not look up from his project. “You have not eaten yet.”

“I know that.” McCoy frowned. “I can eat in the medical center. There’s a replicator in there.”

Now Spock looked up, studying him closely. McCoy felt a shock of annoyance. The Vulcan didn’t trust him! He wasn’t a child; he could damn well take care of himself. 

“Very well,” Spock said eventually. He began to gather up his things.

Had Spock been hoping they would eat together? “You don’t have to leave,” he said quickly. “You can keep working here. If you like.”

Spock paused. He looked down at his hands holding the tricorder. “...Perhaps I could walk with you?”

“Oh.” McCoy blinked. “That’s...well, that’s. Yes, Spock. You can walk with me.”

The  _ Yorktown _ was slowly waking up around them. 

They walked along the main branch as the panels shifted to a pink-orange glow. The sky was almost red. McCoy chuckled mirthlessly and muttered, “Sailor take warning.”

“Leonard?”

McCoy smiled at him. Spock was walking with his left hand on the little satchel holding his tricorder and materials, but his right hand was swinging freely in the space between them. McCoy thought about holding it. “Just an old Earth saying. ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.’ Supposedly the color of the sky allowed you to predict whether there would be a storm coming.”

“Is it accurate?”

McCoy shrugged. “I don’t know anything about old Earth weather patterns, Spock. They’ve been carefully controlled for most of my life.”

Spock looked at the sky. Or, he looked up at least. The sky was all around them, uncomfortably close. He said nothing more.

McCoy suddenly felt displaced. His hands were shaking. Above them, a shuttle flew a bit low and the engine noise rumbled through them. Far up the path, a triad sat on a bench holding hands. The one in the middle, a powder-blue Androian, turned and kissed a brown human woman sitting to her left.

McCoy frowned at the sight. “I suppose on Vulcan public displays of affection are considered illogical.”

Spock followed his gaze to the triad on the bench. He glanced away from the sight just as quickly. “Not at all,” he said. 

McCoy looked at him in surprise. “What are they like?” 

Spock didn’t look back. McCoy could detect a hint of stress at the corner of his eye, but then it faded. “Did your… research not reveal what is our custom? We do not hold hands, nor do we kiss in public.”

“Well, what do you do?” McCoy asked, annoyed.

Spock stopped walking, and McCoy ground to a halt beside him. “For a Vulcan, the only appropriate display is a brief touch of the index and middle fingers. It is a semi-ritualistic practice the enactment of which allows one to gauge their partner’s emotional state and provide support.”

“But you—” He froze, forcibly biting his tongue.

Spock observed him stoically. “Nyota suggested a kiss on the cheek as an acceptable alternative for the both of us.”

McCoy had no idea if that sentence was in the past or present tense. Both options felt disastrous. He recalled, suddenly, how he had felt at Jim’s birthday party when he watched Uhura and Spock talking. He wanted them to be happy, and now he felt like he was only getting in the way of that. But didn’t he deserve a little happiness, too? And Spock was an adult and totally capable of making his own decisions. He had to know what he was doing...Unless he didn't really think he was doing anything. Probably even Vulcans engaged in affairs.

His thoughts were running in circles. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away, but his eyes immediately fell on the triad again. The one on the Andorian’s left, a white human man, was braiding a flower crown. McCoy scoffed. Those romantic saps. Annoyed, he looked back at Spock who was suddenly closer than he remembered.

He jumped. 

“Please mirror my movements,” Spock said.

“What’re you doing?” McCoy asked, wary. But when Spock raised his hand he followed suit.

Spock folded his thumb and last two fingers in, presenting the first two to McCoy. McCoy had a sense of  _ deja vu _ at the sight. Perhaps he had read something about this in a file somewhere, although he’d never seen it done. Lightly, they touched just the tips of their fingers together.

McCoy felt a rush of affection, warmth, kindness, adoration at the simple touch. He wasn’t totally sure where the feeling was coming from, but it was there. Larger than life, whole, encompassing,  _ there _ . He felt lighter. He stood up straighter. He recalled that Vulcan touch telepathy and wondered if the finger touch offered not-just-metaphorical support. He called up his thought from earlier, his strong desire for Spock to be happy—whatever the cost.

Spock curled his fingers in slightly, sending sparks of joy shooting across McCoy’s skin, and then dropped his hand. 

“Very good, Leonard,” Spock said. He sounded slightly out of breath, like he’d just been running. His gaze was electric. “Perhaps we can engage in this act again?”

McCoy felt inexplicably pleased and giddy. He knew he was smiling like a loon. He tried to get ahold of himself. “Sure,” he said. “That sounds good.”

The continued walking together. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has left comments and kudos! Although I don't often respond (because I am an awkward loser) I do read them and cherish them. :)

McCoy was starting to feel pretty hopeless about Sulu’s condition. Fortunately, the Lieutenant hadn’t suffered any more degeneration. Unfortunately, they still hadn’t located the original cause beyond “Krall probably did it.” Another change could happen at any time, or never. And for all McCoy and his instruments were able to determine, the next spike could be even worse.

He had a crick in his neck. He rubbed at it in frustration as he signed off on yet another lab for Nurse Abel. As he did, the door slid open and Spock stepped in.

Spock nodded at him, but went to Sulu instead. They exchanged low conversation as McCoy flipped through the lab scans. More negative reactions. More impossible-to-answer questions. 

By the time Spock was done speaking with Sulu, McCoy had gone back to his office to brood. He looked up as Spock came in. “Have a good chat?”

“It is the duty of the first officer to see to the health and safety of the crew,” Spock explained as if reading from a textbook. “However, yes, we did. Lieutenant Sulu shared with me an amusing anecdote from his daughter’s infancy.”

McCoy blinked at him in surprise. He would never, in a million years, have expected Spock to engage in such a conversation. Let alone agree that it was “good.” “Oh,” McCoy said. “Well that’s...great, Spock.”

“Indeed. Lieutenant Sulu has also asked that I speak to you on his behalf regarding a personal matter. It is the case that Sulu has not been allowed visitors?”

McCoy began rubbing at the back of his neck again, stressed. “Since we don’t know what’s causing his illness I’ve been wary to let people come see him. Any kind of stress or physical activity could exacerbate his symptoms.”

“It is my understanding that humans require frequent social interaction, especially during times of stress. Visits from friends and family might also alleviate the emotional tension of an uncertain stay at the medical center.”

McCoy chuckled at that. “Spock, when you’re right, you’re right. I’ll make a note in his file that he can start having visitors again.”

Spock nodded curtly and then his features seemed to soften. “You are experiencing neck pains?”

“Nothing a quick hypo won’t cure. I’ve just been too busy.”

Without further prompting, Spock stepped around McCoy’s desk. He rested on hand on McCoy’s shoulder. “May I assist?”

“Uh, sure,” McCoy said, surprised. Spock was already practically on top of him anyway. 

Spock nodded. He rested his other hand on the side of McCoy’s neck and began to rub gently, yet firmly. His movements were precise and methodical, searching out the little bundles of anxious muscle fibers and gently coaxing them to a more relaxed state. His hands were warm, reminding McCoy of a hot stone massage he had received once. He let out a sigh of relief as Spock massaged his neck.

“...You’re quite good at that,” he mumbled after a while.

“You have seen me deliver the Vulcan nerve pinch? The principle is the same.”

Somehow, McCoy doubted that Vulcans taught massage therapy alongside martial arts techniques, but who knew? He decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He let himself relax in Spock’s hands for a moment.

“Have you eaten lunch, Doctor?” Spock asked after a moment. His voice was softer than usual.

“Mm, no.” He tried to work up some annoyance at Spock babying him, but he couldn’t.

“Excellent. I have come to ask if you would care to accompany me for lunch this afternoon?”

“Not just to pass on a message from Sulu?”

“I am capable of taking actions which embody multiple simultaneous meanings.”

McCoy tipped his head back to look up at Spock. His face was smooth. For a moment, McCoy wondered what meanings this action embodied. To a human, a neck massage was a pretty intimate thing. But to a Vulcan it may not be. Perhaps Spock saw this as another exercise of his duties as an officer.

He decided to shelve that thought for later. “Well, lunch sounds good. Maybe clearing my head can give me some new insights into our Sulu problem.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at him. “Indeed.” He dropped his hands and stepped away.

McCoy checked the chronometer as he went, wincing when he realized he had just over two hours before his meeting with the Commodore. If she decided to bust him back to ensign who would help Sulu? He told himself that the station probably had many qualified doctors who could help, but it didn’t do much to alleviate his anxiety.

On the way out, he gave instructions to Nurse Abel to allow Sulu to have visitors. Sulu perked up as he overheard the news. “Thanks, Doc! I promise not to get into too much trouble.”

“You’d better not get into  _ any _ trouble,” McCoy groused, shaking a finger at him. “I expect the medbay to be spic and span when I get back, Mister.”

Sulu just laughed. McCoy thought his smile lasted just a bit too long as he glanced between him and Spock, but maybe he was deluding himself.

Spock took him to a little sandwich shop on the first floor of a tall skyscraper. It made him dizzy to try and look up at the obsidian-colored building, so he kept his eyes on the ground instead. 

“I have not yet been able to locate the Captain,” Spock said once they were seated. He was cutting his tempeh sandwich into little squares, the weirdo. McCoy smiled fondly at the sight.

“How did you try to get ahold of him?”

“I commed him again after escorting you to the medical center, and once more before retrieving you for lunch. He does not answer.”

“Hmph.” McCoy took out his own communicator and flipped it open. “McCoy to Captain Kirk,” he said. The communicator chirped once, sadly, to let him know the message hadn’t gone through. He tried fiddling with the dial to no avail. “He must have his communicator off.”

Spock nodded. “I agree with your assessment, Doctor. However his timing is…” He hesitated. “Sub-optimal.”

“Why’s that?” McCoy took a bite of his own sandwich and nearly moaned in pleasure. Roast beef, real mustard, and rye bread. It was so, so much better than replicated food.

Spock hesitated again before setting his knife and fork aside. He pulled out his little satchel and opened it. McCoy recognized the project he’d been working on earlier, but now he could tell what it actually was.

It was a bracelet.

McCoy blinked. “Is that…?”

Spock nodded. He held the bracelet up. The small blue gem glinted in the light. “Unfortunately, I did not have enough Vokaya to craft an additional stone. This one is modified from existing technology. I have masked it to prevent detection, and it emits a signal which only I know.” He hesitated again, looking down at the braclet. “I grew concerned that the Captain would not wish to wear a necklace, as I have come to understand that such jewelry is considered feminine by humans.”

“He wouldn’t care about that anymore than I do,” McCoy said. He felt a lump in his throat. He was deeply touched on Jim’s behalf. He’d known that Spock was going to give him a tracker, but it was different seeing Spock holding something he’d made with such care. He hoped Jim would understand what a huge deal this was. He cleared his throat. “But, I think he’ll like it, Spock.”

Spock nodded, accepting McCoy’s assessment immediately. He put away the bracelet and as he turned back to his lunch McCoy caught Spock looking at the little bump under his shirt where his own necklace lay. He touched it unconsciously and cleared his throat again.

Dammit, he was becoming a huge sap in his old age. He took another bite of his sandwich to distract himself, and nearly melted as the flavors hit him again. “Damn, this sandwich is amazing.”

Spock glanced up at him, raising one brow in the Vulcan equivalent of a smirk. “Indeed? You do appear to be particularly enamored with it.”

“Well, I mean, it’s just unexpected. It doesn’t taste replicated, so they must have shipped all of this out here. I would have expected it to be...bad, or stale by this point.”

“The  _ Yorktown _ is experimenting with greenhouse technology that could produce such foodstuffs. It is my understanding that the fifth ring of the station is entirely devoted to agriculture and farming.”

After that, they chatted about less emotionally-charged things. They discussed Sulu’s condition a little more, as McCoy hoped that Spock would provide one of his usual astonishing insights and deliver the answer in the nick of time. No such luck. McCoy lost track of time as they began to banter about the tendency of the planets they encountered to reflect Earth’s development. McCoy always felt it sort of odd and creepy. Spock seemed to enjoy pointing out that it was, in fact,  _ Earth _ that was merely the copy of a copy. It was an old argument they picked up and cocooned themselves in like a comforting blanket. 

He was startled back to reality when his PADD beeped at him, reminding him of his appointment with the Commodore. With a sigh, McCoy turned off the alarm. “I have to get going, Spock. I’ve got a meeting with the Commodore to see if I can get my hands on Krall’s technology.”

Both of Spock’s eyebrows rocketed upwards. “You believe she has it?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got to try.” He stood up to bus their table, feeling guilty for how long they had stayed during the lunch rush. “But, uh. She might not be too amenable to give it to me.”

“Why not?”

“I may have given her a good cussing out for denying all knowledge.” When Spock gave him a disgruntled look, McCoy growled back. “Well, what am I supposed to do? Sulu’s hurt! Anyway, if I come out of that meeting with no stripes on my sleeve, don’t be surprised.”

“I shall endeavor not to be,” Spock said.

Spock walked him to the rail station. McCoy was still debating how to say goodbye when Spock raised his hand and offered his two fingers. Feeling pleased as punch, McCoy offered his own hand in return.

Spock studied him during their brief contact, then dropped his hand. “Do not worry about your meeting with Commodore Paris,” he said softly. “Remember that you have many people who support you.”

“Yeah?” McCoy grinned at him. “I’ll do my best.” The train pulled up and people began to pile in and out, so he waved goodbye. “See you later?”

Spock nodded. After McCoy had boarded the train he looked out the window, but he couldn’t tell if Spock was still there or not in the crowd.

___

Commodore Paris’ office was busy when he arrived. Her receptionist, a nice young Talaxian with bright eyes, told him to wait in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He sat near a potted plant that vaguely reminded him of something he’d seen on Omicron Ceti 3. It made him uncomfortable. 

He sat tapping his toes until the Talaxian shook hir head at him. Then he went to twiddling his thumbs. He wondered if he should have worn his dress uniform to his dressing-down, but then he scolded himself for being so nervous. And anyway, the Commodore didn’t need any help strangling him.

Finally, more than half an hour after their appointed time, three commanders in command yellow trickled out of her office. An ensign in medical blue trailed after them, and looked at McCoy as though she recognized him. McCoy tried to smile back. 

“The Commodore will see you now.”

He took a deep breath. Now or never.

Her office was huge, much larger than he would have thought. It reminded him vaguely of a fishbowl, although it was much darker. He had to squint to see her at the end. She was standing with her hands folded behind her back, looking out the window at the  _ Yorktown _ .

“Come in, Doctor McCoy,” she said.

He took another step in. His steps echoed oddly off the walls, and he wondered if the whole base was designed to have strange acoustics. “Er, thank you for seeing me.”

Now Commodore Paris turned. There was a slight glint of amusement in her eyes, and McCoy took that as a good sign. “After such a heartfelt plea, how could I refuse?”

She didn’t offer him a seat, so he continued standing as she looked at him. She was clearly waiting for him to make the first move, so he did. “Commodore, with all due respect—” She raised an eyebrow at that, but he barreled on ahead. “I know Starfleet must have recovered Krall’s technology from the  _ Franklin. _ I saw Lieutenant Uhura’s report. He had removed it before attempting to reach the air systems. He must have left it there.”

She nodded slightly. “And you think we just...picked it up and didn’t tell anyone?”

“No offense, Commodore, but that is kind of Starfleet’s MO.”

She stepped around her desk and walked over to him. She had to look up at him, but somehow he still felt about six inches tall. He tried not to wither under her gaze. “And if we did have it, why would we allow you to look at it?”

“I’ve got a sick crewman that needs help. I can’t explain what’s happening, but if I can just look at this tech I might have a shot.”

“There’s truly no other way that you can help him?”

“At this point, I’ve run out of tests I can possibly run. I need more information. Now, if you’ve got it you are ethically bound to—”

She turned away and began to walk back to her desk. “Yes, yes. You made your ethics argument quite well in your last message. I haven’t called you here to tell you not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong--although, it doesn’t belong. No, I’m afraid the news I have to give you is far worse.”

“Worse?”

She looked up at him and keyed a few commands into her console. “We followed the advice of Lieutenant Uhura, which was echoed in the dozens of other reports we received from the  _ Enterprise _ crew and by the informant from Altamid, Jaylah. The device was destroyed.”

A screen appeared next to him and he stepped back to get a better look. On it, Scotty and Keenser appeared. “Oi, alright,” Scotty was saying to the camera. He seemed a little drunk. “This is stardate--what’s stardate, laddie?” Keenser said something McCoy couldn’t hear, and Scotty nodded. “Aye, that. We’ve got our first attempt to destroy the blasted thing. ‘Er we go!”

McCoy watched as Scotty tried to dismantle the suit, only to have it toss him away in a shower of sparks. The recording skipped ahead by several hours. Now Scotty was looking disheveled, although less drunk. All around him were the scattered remains of their various attempts to destroy the thing. The device was still intact. Scotty looked dejected. “Aye, it’s a tough one,” he said into the camera. “But I think we’ve still got a fighting—” Behind him, Keenser sneezed. Scotty’s eyes lit up.

McCoy looked away. “You can turn it off,” he said, defeated. “I think I see where this is going.”

Commodore Paris did so. She was looking at him seriously. “Doctor, we destroyed the device before we knew anyone was still affected by it. Before your Lieutenant Sulu was even admitted to the medical center. Believe me, we would not have destroyed it had we known.”

He rubbed at his face, feeling hopeless. Just when he’d thought he’d had a chance...He didn’t know what to do with himself. If all it took was convincing Starfleet, he could do that. That would at least give him something to fight. But this, with nothing to fight but a dormant, sneaky disease...he felt useless.

“Thank you for telling me in person.”

She smiled at him. “I got the impression you wouldn’t believe me otherwise. Commander Scott did file a report afterwards. I will have it sent to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Meanwhile, you will continue to have the full support of the medical facilities here at  _ Yorktown _ . If you require anything at all, please let me know.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Other than a clear answer and some firm ground to stand on, I could really use a drink.” He shook his head. “To be honest, Commodore, I’m surprised you heard me out after how crass I was.”

“You are aware, of course, that Captain Kirk was offered the position of Vice Admiral here on the  _ Yorktown _ .”

“I...No, ma’am I did not know that.”

She glanced out the window. “Regardless, he has turned it down. Yet I would not have offered it to him if I didn’t respect his opinion. The Vice Admiral is the right hand of the Commodore, after all. And his opinion of everyone on his crew--including, and perhaps especially, you--has always been very high.” She looked back at him. She was smiling slightly. “Young men make mistakes, especially when the life of a friend is on the line.”

McCoy blinked. He hadn’t had anyone call him “young man” in a very long time. And Commodore Paris didn’t really seem that old. He smiled slightly. Young or not, he’d certainly acted immaturely. “Well, thank you anyway. For giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

She nodded. “If that is all, you are dismissed.”

“Er, actually.” He bounced up on his toes. “There is one more thing…”

___

He rolled up in sleek new shuttle pod and threw the door open. “Get in, Spock. We’re going camping.”

Spock looked at the shuttle incredulously. “...Leonard, your comm lead me to believe that you have found the Captain.”

“And I have! Get in, I’ll explain along the way.”

Dubiously, Spock stepped into the shuttle. The door closed behind him and Spock took the co-pilot’s chair. “Are you certain you do not wish for me to fly the shuttle?”

McCoy grimaced. “Spock, I took the same damned piloting classes in the Academy as you did. Recent events notwithstanding, I’d like to think I’m a pretty good pilot.” To demonstrate, he lifted them easily into the air.

“And what is our destination?”

“Outermost band, first quadrant. There’s a forest there that they use to help keep the air nice and fresh. Also doubles as a campgrounds for built-in shore leave. I have it on good authority that we’ll find ol’ Jimmy holed up there.”

“Where did you learn this?”

“Commodore Paris. He just spoke with her yesterday morning to get permission to go on some kind of spirit quest out in the boonies. Well, as close as you can get to the boonies on a billion ton floating hamster ball.” He glanced over at Spock, who was looking at him intently as though trying to parse all of the contents of that sentence. Spock was in civvies again--a nice forest green, high-collared shirt and brown slacks. He looked delectable.

McCoy grinned. “Did you bring your gift?”

“Yes, I have it here.” Spock touched his satchel. 

“Good.” He thought about asking Spock about what the Commodore had told him about Jim nearly leaving the  _ Enterprise _ , but he didn’t. It still pained him to think about. He’d almost lost both Jim and Spock in the same instant. 

It frustrated him, though, that neither of them had come to talk to him  _ before _ making their misguided decisions. The three of them were friends, right? But Spock hadn’t admitted he planned to go to New Vulcan until he’d been inches from death, and apparently Jim had never intended to tell him he was leaving the  _ Enterprise _ at all. 

He pictured himself wandering the halls of their new starship aimlessly with some new captain and first officer to answer to. Without Spock. Without Jim. He couldn’t even imagine it. Without them, he’d probably just leave space exploration altogether. 

Feeling melancholy, he focused on flying the shuttle. 

The station was large, but the shuttle was fast. They arrived in just a few minutes. McCoy set the shuttle down in a clearing a few hundred yards from where Jim was supposed to be. Spock made a noise of appreciation as he did.

“Truly graceful flying, Doctor.”

“Oh, stick it in your ear,” he groused. He tried to smile but it was a bit difficult.

They disembarked. They were in a thick deciduous forest. The trees were planted too evenly to be natural, but McCoy still felt more comfortable here than he had anywhere else in the station. He could almost feel like this was a tree plantation on Earth. There were even little flowers and other plants around, and he swore he could hear a bubbling brook. Spock pulled out his tricorder and fiddled with it before setting off with purpose. McCoy trailed behind him.

“Bones! Mr. Spock! Fancy seeing you two gentlemen way out here. What are the chances?”

Jim was sprawled out on a sleeping bag in front of a small tent that was hitched to the side of his own shuttle. He was drinking something out of a metal cup and was wearing a plaid shirt and a grin that made his face light up. 

Spock looked at him curiously. “The chances are quite high. We were searching for you, Captain.”

“Spock, I’m on vacation. Call me ‘Jim.’”

McCoy stalked over to him and Jim blinked owlishly up at him. “Oh, on vacation are we? Meanwhile I’m working my damned fingers to the bone in the med center, trying to figure out where you’ve gotten off to! Spock here was worried sick.”

“I do not worry,” Spock said.

McCoy glared at him and Spock wisely shut up. “I’m giving you a physical.”

“Aw, Bones, c’mon,” Jim complained and groused, but he didn’t actually put up a physical fight as McCoy violently rearranged him into a sitting position on the sleeping bag and started scanning him. Jim looked up at Spock as he submitted. “Spock, sit yourself down. You’re making me nervous.”

“Thank you, Jim. I prefer to stand.” He clearly wished he could hover a few inches off the ground to avoid the dirt.

McCoy eyed the readings on his tricorder. Jim didn’t look too bad. In fact, based on this he was less stressed than he had been in a long while. That warmed McCoy’s heart, but he still dug into his medical kit and pulled out a hypo. He jabbed it into Jim’s arm before he could protest.

“Ow! Bones, what the hell?”

“Oh, be quiet you big baby. You know hypos don’t hurt,” he said fondly. He sat back on the other edge of the sleeping bag and stole Jim’s cup. He took a drink and hummed to himself in disappointment. It was just coffee.

“They do when you’re wielding them,” Jim muttered, rubbing at his arm. “What did you give me?”

“Just a vitamin supplement. Eating campfire food isn’t going to do anything for you but make you break out the green shirt.”

Jim scoffed. “Did you really both fly all the way out here just to give me some vitamins?”

McCoy glanced at Spock, who was suddenly looking around as though the woods was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the Vulcan was nervous. Well, maybe he was nervous, but that didn’t mean he could weasel his way out of this now. “Spock’s got something for ya.”

“Really?” It was kind of sad, actually, the way Jim’s eyes lit up as he looked over at Spock. “Why, Mr. Spock. You shouldn’t have.”

“Why should I not give you a gift?” Spock asked seriously.

“Nevermind, I’ll explain later. What is it?” Jim was practically vibrating.

Perhaps sensing he could stall no longer, Spock walked over to them. He knelt down on the very edge of the sleeping bag near McCoy. McCoy found that interesting, but didn’t comment. He kept drinking Jim’s coffee, curious about where this would go. Spock opened his satchel and took out the bracelet.

“I regret that I did not have the time to acquire wrapping paper. I hope this breach of custom does not offend you.”

Jim gaped as he accepted the gift. “Spock, is this…”

“Unfortunately, not enough Vokaya remains to fashion more jewelry. I have made this instead. It is unique to you.” Spock suddenly looked stricken. “It doubles as a tracking device, and I understand if such a thing makes you uncomfortable. After I explained this to Nyota she warned me there may be times when she will be unwilling to wear her own necklace. I will not be offended if you chose not to wear it.”

Not offended? Maybe, maybe not, but Spock was so still it was making McCoy physically ache. And that bit about Uhura not wearing the necklace...ouch.

“Spock, it’s beautiful,” Jim said after a moment. His words were thick with emotion, and he cleared his throat. He slipped the bracelet on and adjusted it so it lay snug against his wrist. “Thank you. I’ll wear it always.”

Now Spock was almost smiling, and McCoy felt more than a little awkward sitting between them. He could tell Jim felt unsure as well, because he kept moving his hands around like he didn’t know what to do with them. His hand would fall to the bracelet, then his fingers would tangle together, then he would rub his palm on his pant leg. He was grinning ridiculously.

McCoy passed him back the half-cup of coffee and Jim took it gratefully. He held it in both hands and kept looking between the two of them, still with that dopey grin on his face. McCoy coughed and turned away.

“So, how long are you planning to be out here?”

“Long as I can,” Jim said. “I’ve got this space booked for a week, but if no one shows up to claim it I can stay here longer after that. Why, Bones? You want to come rough it with me?”

McCoy scoffed. “Oh, no. Last time you nearly lit me on fire!”

“It was just a little singe!” Jim complained. “Your shirt was fine. Anyway, I can’t start fires while camping at  _ Yorktown _ because they get extinguished immediately. This is a phase-fire-only zone.”

“Because that’s so much better. Now if you push me in I’ll just get totally incinerated instead of burned!”

“I didn’t push you in! I tripped over a stick. It’s totally different.”

Spock stood up suddenly. “Excuse me, Doctor, Captain,” he said. “I believe I hear the comm indicator on our shuttle. I shall answer it.”

“Oh, uh.” McCoy blinked at him. “Sure, Spock. Do you want me to—”

“I will be only a moment.”

He strolled off into the woods.

McCoy shook his head, watching him go. “I still can’t believe those ears. Can he really hear it all the way over there?” When Jim didn’t answer, McCoy turned to him and nearly jumped at the predatory look on his face. “Dammit, Jim. What the hell?”

Jim set the coffee cup down and crowded into McCoy’s space, digging at his neckline. “Let me see,” he demanded.

“Let you see what? Get off of me you oaf!” 

They tussled and Jim pushed him back on the sleeping bag, eventually letting out a triumphant, “Aha!” when he grabbed ahold of McCoy’s necklace. He pulled it out and studied it, way too close.

“Jim,” McCoy warned, going cross-eyed trying to look at him. Jim was about twenty centimeters away and was frowning at the necklace.

“I knew it!” Jim said. He pointed an accusatory finger in McCoy’s face. “He gave you one, too! At the party I didn’t think anything of it. I just figured you were having another disco relapse.” He ignored McCoy’s hurt “Hey” of protest. “But this clinches it! Oh my god, Bones. Spock gave you a tracking necklace. Hey.” He frowned. “Spock gave you yours before me.”

“For god’s sake you are such a child.” McCoy tried to shove him off to no avail. “He had mine on reserve from Ambassador Spock. He had to make yours, and then you went off without telling us where you were so we couldn’t find you!” He thought he managed to keep the hurt out of his voice.

Judging by the way Jim looked down at him, he might not have been as successful as he’d hoped. “...So, what you’re saying is he gave you a very treasured artifact from the other Spock?”

“That’s...no?” McCoy sighed. “Jim, get off. Spock can probably hear our whole conversation!”

“Oh, whatever. He didn’t hear the shuttle comm. He’s just making up excuses ‘cause he’s the only one who can give you a run for the award of ‘Most Emotionally Stunted.’”

“You’re one to talk!”

Before he could muster up the energy to try to shove Jim away again, Spock came running back into their encampment. His eyes scanned over the scene of Jim and McCoy entangled on the sleeping bag, but he didn’t seem to think it was odd. “Doctor, you are needed back at the medical center immediately.”

“What?” He shoved Jim off and Jim rolled away. “What happened?”

“Is it Sulu?” Jim asked.

“Yes. His condition is critical.”

Jim looked pained. “But he was doing fine!”

McCoy lumbered upwards and glared at Jim. “How would you know?”

“I went to see him as soon as you let him have visitors.”

“Of course.” McCoy threw his hands into the air, exasperated. “Of course you were right under my nose and you still managed to avoid me. Of! Course!” He started at a fast jog towards the shuttle, and when Spock began to follow him McCoy growled. “Oh no you don’t! You stay here and keep an eye on that idiot!” He pointed at Jim, who looked hurt. 

He clambered into the shuttle and kicked the engines on, cursing at himself. He shouldn’t have left on this wild goose chase. He should have been at the medical center instead. As he rose into the air and tipped the shuttle to turn back towards the center of the station, he saw Jim and Spock through the window. They were standing together, looking up at him.

He tucked his necklace back into his shirt. He flew fast, and didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bones didn't know Jim was leaving (Bones didn't know Jim was leaving).


	7. Chapter 7

Sulu was a five on the Glasgow- Cuauhtémoc Revised Coma Scale. 

He showed minimal reaction to pain, but his eyes didn’t respond to light and he had no response to sound. A sub-cranial brain scan demonstrated ongoing wave patterns, which meant this likely wasn’t permanent. It still freaked Ben and Demora out, and McCoy found them sitting in the waiting area looking panicked.

Demora was curled up in Ben’s lap with her arms around his neck. Ben was staring into middle-space, his face totally blank. McCoy sat down next to them and placed a comforting hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Would you like to talk about this privately?” he asked softly. 

Ben shook his head. “No. Just tell us the news.”

McCoy took a deep breath. He let it out. “Hikaru has slipped into a coma. There’s a scale that we use that tells us how deep the coma is, and he’s at a five. That means it’s likely not permanent, but we need to keep a close eye on him. Now, I don’t want you to worry unnecessarily. We still see mental activity, so we know Hikaru is in there. His body has just registered a trauma and decided the best way to deal with that is by forcing him to rest until he heals.”

Ben shook his head again. “But how did this happen? What trauma? He was just playing with Demora!”

Demora let out a little whine at his words, and Ben held her closer.

“We aren’t sure,” McCoy said softly. “We’ve got some data from the start of the spike, and I’m going to go through it all. I’ll do everything in my power to try and find an answer for you.”

Ben looked away, wiping at his tears. “Okay, okay,” he said. His breath hitched. “I know you’re doing what you can.” 

Demora reached up and touched an escaped tear curiously. “Chichi don’t cry,” she said. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m trying not to.”

McCoy had to look away a moment. He stared at an invisible point in space, forcing himself not to start crying as well. “Ben, if you like you can stay here with him.”

Ben nodded. “I-I would. But I think it would be better for Demora if she were around kids.” He laughed flatly and looked down at his daughter. “What do you think? Would you like to go play instead of dealing with all this silly grown up stuff?”

She hesitated, then nodded and pushed her hair out of her face. “I guess so, Chichi.”

Ben stood up and deposited her on the floor. He held her hand tightly. “I may be back later, Doctor.” He reminded McCoy of a torpedo shock survivor. 

McCoy watched him go. It seemed like Demora was the only thing holding him upright. McCoy took another deep, fortifying breath, and then returned to process Sulu’s scans.

What they told him confirmed most of his theories. The damage had indeed happened suddenly. There was a spike in Sulu’s heart rate recorded at 17:17 hours, and then an immediate decay in brain waves. His heart now looked like swiss cheese, and it appeared that he’d aged two decades in just a few seconds. What was strange was the fact that just before the spike there had been a steady upswing in Sulu’s readings. In the hour before the fall, he had likely been feeling better than ever.

McCoy didn’t know what could account for that. The idea of “life energy” itself still felt ludicrous to him. He couldn’t measure such a loss in any way, although he did detect an increase in non-replicating DNA after the spike. That seemed to support Uhura’s initial theory, if nothing else. But if he was losing “life,” McCoy had no way of tracking what it was or where it was going.

Frustrated, he went back into the examination room to conduct yet another scan. Ben was there. McCoy gave a startled glance at the chronometer and realized that he’d been poring over the scans for several hours. Ben had his head bowed over the biobed and he was talking to Sulu softly.

He looked up as McCoy walked over. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he began to say.

“Don’t be.” McCoy waved his worries away. “Talking is an old folk remedy for this condition.” He grinned and Ben smiled sadly back. 

“Do you think it helps?” Ben asked.

McCoy shrugged. “Even if it just helps you, it helps. Now, I’m just here to take a few samples and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Ben stepped out of his way as he took some blood samples and did another full body scan. He tested Sulu’s reflexes again and debated internally before finally deciding he was just deluding himself. Sulu was still at a five on the scale. 

“There’s no change in his condition,” he told Ben. “Which is honestly a good thing. We don’t want him slipping any deeper.” He adjusted the neural stimulator slightly and then looked back at Ben. “...Will you be here the whole night?”

Ben shrugged. “Demora is staying the night at a friend’s house.” 

That wasn’t really an answer, but McCoy still called over Nurse Tian, who was hovering nearby. He asked Tian to procure a cot in case Ben needed it, and then gave him the blood samples to take to the lab. 

“Let me know the second you have the results back.”

After that, there wasn’t much to do but wait. He decided to go to his office, to keep from hovering over Sulu and making Ben nervous. Once there he replicated himself a snack of black coffee and sat at his desk, drinking and thinking.

He was feeling tired, but he didn’t want to go to his quarters to sleep. He kept himself awake and busy with an old problem. He brought up the files on Vulcan reproduction. It was strange to look at them again. The whole thing felt like it had happened months ago. He could barely remember what it had felt like to look at these files coldly, clinically. Before he and Spock had… well, had started whatever it was they were doing together.

He still felt unsure of what was going on between them, but whatever it was couldn’t last so long as Spock felt an obligation to his species. There were only a few million Vulcans left in the universe--official reports refused to name an exact number, but it wasn’t many. Of course, if Vulcans were anything like humans they wouldn’t need that many to ensure genetic diversity. McCoy knew that 200 humans was more than enough to ensure a genetically diverse colony, and Vulcans likely weren’t too different. 

McCoy sighed and scrubbed at his face. It didn’t matter anyway. If it were really about that, Spock would have stayed with Uhura and had a child with her. Unless she didn’t want that which...He considered. That seemed pretty likely, actually. McCoy couldn’t picture Uhura ever wanting to move to New Vulcan to settle down. She belonged in space just as much as the rest of them.

Well, if it was just a matter of finding someone to have a kid with, McCoy knew there were people who would be knocking down Spock’s door for the chance. Hell, they didn’t even have to be female to do it. The fact that Spock existed was proof enough that the same technology that had produced Demora could be used to make a whole host of little pointy-eared, part-Vulcan babies with male humans as well. Human and Vulcan chromosomes were similar enough to do it. 

He replicated himself another coffee and a poppyseed muffin. He started to make notes to himself with the vague idea of giving them to Spock later. They could take an X-chromosome from one parent and a Y-chromosome from another, or two X-chromosomes, he wrote to the hypothetical Spock. They could combine them. In fact, McCoy even knew the principles of the procedure. He could do it himself! Although if Spock wanted it done while they were still on the  _ Yorktown _ , Dr. Dreil would be a better choice.

He wrote into the early morning hours, explaining in excruciating detail the science behind the procedure that could allow Spock to have a child with anyone he chose, regardless of where he was in space. And he  _ could _ pick anyone. He could do it with Jim, or Scotty, or Chekov if he wanted. Well, Chekov was a little young to be having kids. Maybe Uhura would agree to donate some DNA so long as she didn’t have to carry the child herself. Hell, Spock could even choose him!

He stopped writing.

What if Spock asked him?

His heart swelled at the thought. He and Spock. A child. God, how McCoy wished he could hold the baby in his arms right then. He would hold them close and whisper into their milky hair. He could sing to them at night and rock them through tantrums. He could hold their little feet when they kicked. Wrap their tiny, fat fingers around his own thumb. He could watch them grow, all gangly limbs and lightning-fast mouth. Did Vulcans go through puberty as awkwardly as humans did? Did Vulcans cry when they skinned their knees? Did they climb peach trees to get the best fruit? Did they grow up with fuzzy pets as companions, as human children did?

He realized his hands were shaking. He had to stop thinking about this. This was way, way too intimate a thought. He was getting in too deep. 

McCoy saved the file for later and buried his face in his hands. He scolded himself for having such thoughts. He hadn’t had any like that for...a long, long time. He couldn’t afford to start having them again now.

He was still berating himself when he heard a soft knock on the doorframe. He looked up, unsurprised to see Spock looking at him with worry plain in his face.

“Come to make me take care of myself again, Spock?” he said humorlessly.

Spock stepped into his office. “Your nurse has informed me that you have not returned to your quarters to rest since you arrived yesterday evening.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose.” He sighed. “Spock, I’m tired. I don’t want to argue with you right now.”

“Then do not argue, Leonard,” Spock said softly. “Return with me to rest so that you may continue your duties.”

McCoy sighed again. He stood up.

He made the usual rounds to examine Sulu again before he left, staying as quiet as possible to not wake Ben, who had fallen asleep on a nearby cot with his fingers resting on Sulu’s hand. It discomfited McCoy to look at them. 

Tian appeared just as he was about to leave with the blood tests, so he spent another half hour going over them hoping that “inconclusive” would resolve into something else. It didn’t. He finally left when Spock practically drug him out by the arm.

In the turbolift he was tired. So tired. He felt drawn like a magnet to Spock’s sturdy warmth, and he leaned against the Vulcan before he could talk himself out of it. Spock accepted his weight and rested his hand at the small of McCoy’s back. He turned his face into Spock’s shoulder and just let himself breathe. For a moment, he felt cared for. 

When the doors swished open he wasn’t looking, but he felt Spock stiffen beside him. “Nyota.”

McCoy jerked away from Spock like he’d been burned. He felt a hot rush of shame as he looked at Uhura, who turned at Spock’s words. Had she seen them?

She looked good. She was wearing the baggy, flat clothes of a labourer and had a satchel thrown over one shoulder. She seemed to be glowing slightly. She smiled at them as they stepped out of the turbolift.

“Dr. McCoy, Spock,” she said. “Good afternoon.” She stepped forward and Spock seemed to automatically offer his cheek to her. She gave him a quick kiss. “How are you both?”

McCoy didn’t know what to say. His brain was sluggishly slow as he registered what was happening: Uhura had kissed Spock. Wished them good afternoon. How late into afternoon were they? How long had it been since he’d last slept? Had Spock stayed with Jim overnight, spent a lazy morning with him? His brain fretted over that for a moment as he processed.

Uhura had kissed Spock.

Spock looked dumbstruck. 

“We’re fine,” McCoy said after a moment.

She looked somber. “I heard about Sulu. I’m just going to visit him. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but I took a work rotation on the fifth ring and just got back an hour ago.”

“I’m afraid Sulu won’t be able to appreciate a visit right now,” McCoy said gently.

She nodded. “I’m aware. But if I know Ben, he’s stuck Demora with a friend and is now trying to shoulder the weight of Sulu’s illness himself. I’m sure he could use someone to talk to, if nothing else.”

Surprised at how accurate she was, McCoy chuckled. “Uhura, as usual your assessment is totally correct.”

Uhura shrugged modestly. “Spock, will you be around later? We could get a late lunch and catch up?”

Spock seemed to kick back online suddenly. “Nyota, my apologies, but the Doctor is very tired. I was just escorting him back to his quarters.”

“Oh?” she said. Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, well. I’ll let you go then. Sorry to bother you both.”

“It’s no bother,” McCoy tried to say, but she was already dancing around them with a smile.

“See you later,” she said with a confident wave.

The second she was gone, McCoy punched Spock in the arm. “What the hell?” he growled.

Spock looked down at his arm, then back to McCoy. His eyes were very serious. He looked vaguely terrified. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere.”

Oh, you think? McCoy didn’t say. He just followed behind Spock, glowering. Of all the fool, Vulcan things to do! It was so unbelievably clear that Spock and Uhura hadn’t talked—or at least, hadn’t talked enough to figure out what was really going on between them.

When they wound up at Spock’s quarters, he wasn’t surprised. He figured Spock knew it would be easier to kick him out of his own quarters.

Spock’s quarters were mostly identical to his, however he had apparently removed the table and put in a desk instead, and the couch was plain missing. In its place was a meditation mat and a wall hanging with Vulcan characters on it. A small brass lamp was set in front of it. McCoy stared at the mat, frustrated that it meant he couldn’t sit down.

“Leonard, I believe I should explain my actions.”

McCoy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He stalked around Spock’s room, wishing he could just sit. Things would be easier if he didn’t have to concentrate on keeping himself upright. “Go for it, Spock,” he said. His voice was too acerbic, even to his own ears. “I’d be  _ delighted _ to hear it.”

Spock paused, visibly uncomfortable. He folded his hands behind his back and then abruptly unfolded them. He strolled forward and presented his hand to McCoy, two fingers outstretched.

McCoy glanced at his hand and looked away. “I don’t want that right now.”

“Leonard, please. The  _ osh’esta _ is not just a ritual sign of affection. It will allow you to know the truth of my words as you feel what I feel.”

McCoy understood, vaguely, that Spock was attempting to share something deeply personal with him. He worked his jaw, considering. “...You can’t just tell me?”

Spock’s hand wavered. “I love you.”

McCoy physically recoiled from his words. He was glad, right then, that he hadn’t allowed Spock to touch him. He didn’t want Spock privy to what he was feeling as he reacted to Spock’s words. Love? That seemed...way too big. He couldn’t even comprehend the jump from “wish to copulate” to “love.” 

He laughed weakly. He felt very alone standing there in the middle of the room. “Not very logical, is it?”

“Love is wholly logical,” Spock said instantly. “Love is a commitment to ongoing vulnerability. One I do not take lightly.” 

“If it’s such a heavy damn commitment, how could you have been willing to abandon Uhura?”

Spock considered his words carefully. “It is...difficult to explain. Leonard, will you permit me the  _ osh’esta _ ? It may alleviate your concerns.”

McCoy shifted from one foot to the other. “But you’ll hear what I’m thinking as well.”

“Yes,” Spock said slowly. “That is the nature of the sharing. Communication is open and nothing can be hidden. However, I will not sense clear thoughts. The transference is merely an impression of surface emotions. However…” He pursed his mouth in a thin line. “If you wish, I will swear to ignore what you feel. I will not allow your emotions to affect my words.”

Merely an impression? What a weak word for such a powerful thing. McCoy felt like he was all surface, no depth. He was a thin line of rage and weakness and loneliness. He didn’t want Spock to know any of that. But, he knew that Spock didn’t take an oath lightly. He would know, but he wouldn’t comment. 

“Fine,” he said eventually. He carefully reached out, and their fingers met. 

McCoy had to look away at the onslaught, not that it helped. The feelings were inside of him. He felt kindness, concern, compassion, burning, longing, care. Spock was a wealth of emotions just as complex as his own. McCoy felt he didn’t deserve the positivity flowing from Spock’s skin to his, but he could do nothing to stop it save for dropping his hand. And he didn’t wish to do that. 

He let Spock share with him. It gave him strength, and he hated himself for being so weak as to need it.

Spock was watching him very carefully. “Do you hear me, Leonard?”

“I do,” he said quietly.

“Very well.” Spock...felt at him, there was no other way to describe him. He felt honesty, truth, the feeling of acceptance, wholeness, unity. “I did not abandon Nyota.” He felt surety. “But I very nearly failed in my duties to her, and this failure has changed the nature of our relationship.” Regret. Bone deep, solid, all-encompassing. Remorse, sorrow, guilt, the desire to repent, to lay bare, to flay himself open and allow all to see the depth of his pain.

McCoy took in a shaky breath and tried to process all of Spock’s regret. “Nearly?” he asked. “Spock, there’s no ‘nearly’ about it. If you didn’t abandon her, then what are you doing standing here talking to me?”

Affection—the bloom of a flower, the desire to protect, sunshine, warmth, devotion—“I love you,” Spock said again.

McCoy yanked his hand away before Spock could finish. “Arm’s getting tired,” he said gruffly. He curled his fingers into a fist. His skin was tingling with residual heat.

“I see.” Spock was suspicious of him. “Perhaps we should sit down?”

They sat on the edge Spock’s bed, the only horizontal surface not behind the desk. McCoy folded his hands into his lap, and Spock didn’t try and reinitiate contact. McCoy’s leg jittered with nervous energy. “Look, Spock, I think you’re confused.” He glanced over, but Spock was merely watching him carefully. “Jesus, you look like a lost puppy. Spock, I was just most of the way inside your head. I felt your regret when you talked about Uhura. It’s so clear that you love her. You shouldn’t just give her up.”

“I am committed to you,” Spock explained.

“Spock—”

“The relationship which Nyota and I shared cannot be reestablished as easily as you may wish, Doctor,” Spock said. The use of “doctor” was like a slap, but judging by Spock’s face he hadn’t intended to call him that. He continued on at a measured pace. “Our relationship has ended as a result of my mistakes. My failures as a partner have ensured that Nyota would be remiss in fully trusting me again, but that is not why I am here talking to you. I have loved Nyota. I love you. I care for you. I desire you. I am committed to you. I have attempted to illustrate as well as I am able, and to avoid my past mistakes. However, I believe I am still…” He visibly searched for the right words. “Bad at it.”

McCoy chuckled at Spock’s choice of words. They were the both of them just stumbling around without a clue, weren’t they? He buried his face in his hands, hoping that if he didn’t look at Spock he could ignore the violent grief written plainly on his face. Spock could communicate volumes with the quirk of an eyebrow, the tilt of his mouth. Right then his face was impassive. Now, here, Spock was deeply saddened over the loss of Uhura. It made McCoy ill. He wished, for a moment, that he could just lean into Spock again, as they had in the turbolift. He wished to take comfort and pleasure in Spock’s body. He wanted that little bubble of denial back, but he couldn’t have it. 

“I think you should call her.”

“Call Nyota?”

McCoy nearly choked on his own misplaced rage over Spock’s obtuseness. “Call your damned girlfriend and figure out when you can talk. You want to avoid past mistakes? Actually explain to her what you just told me! Agree to her lunch date, or something, I don’t know. But you two need to have a serious conversation.”

“I am attempting to have a serious conversation with you at the moment.”

“Well, you’ve had it!” McCoy growled. “Now you know how I feel, so call her.”

“In fact, I do not know how you feel.” Spock was looking at him with deep suspicion again. “As you have broken the  _ ozh’esta _ I am not privy to your emotions, only your words.”

“Then listen to what I’m saying to you. I want you to call her and figure this thing out. You deserve something better. I don’t want you to torpedo a relationship with someone who makes you happy just because—”  _ of me _ . He stopped, gulping. God, his eyes were burning. He was going to cry, but he had to get ahold of himself. He went on. “You’ve said love is a commitment, so follow through. Do the work to fix what’s broken between you two.”

“And what of my commitment to you?”

“What of it?” McCoy said instantly, nastily. “I don’t...I don’t care, I just want you and Uhura to be happy, regardless of what that means for me. Spock, do you think I’m lying to you? Lying about what I want?”

Spock shook his head. “You are not lying to  _ me _ ,” he said. But he still looked suspicious. “I will comm Nyota, if it will alleviate your anxiety.”

“It would.”

Spock rose gracefully and walked to the desk. McCoy watched him go, vaguely horrified that Spock was taking his advice. He suddenly wanted to take it back. Selfishly, he wanted to draw Spock back on to the bed with him and hold him tightly, beg him not to leave. He felt sick. He hadn’t started crying, but his throat was sore and his ears were ringing. He gulped a few times to stem the horrible sobs that threatened to emerge.

He could see Spock through the brass mesh that separated the anteroom from the rest of the space. Spock dialed Uhura’s comm number. The computer dinged at him, and he left a brief, stark message when she didn’t answer. He stared at the screen for a long time after he was done. 

McCoy felt very small, just sitting on Spock’s bed in the anteroom. He couldn’t make out Spock’s face through the wire mesh, but his shoulders were slumped. 

“She is likely still visiting with Lieutenant Sulu,” Spock said after a moment.

“Spock I, I should go.”

Spock looked over at him sharply. In four long strides he was back at the bedside, kneeling down to take McCoy’s hand into his own. He looked up at McCoy imploringly. “It would please me if you would stay. I gain strength from your presence, which I will require when Nyota returns my communication.”

“It’s...it’s not appropriate,” he protested. Weakly, he attempted to pull his hands away, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

Spock shook his head. “I would not engage in telepathy without your consent.” He moved closer, his chest pressed against McCoy’s knees. “Would you care to hear me?”

McCoy looked away from those dark, fathomless eyes. He didn’t answer. “How long do you want me to stay?”

“Forever,” Spock said instantly. His grip tightened a moment, and then softened. He brushed a thumb over McCoy’s knuckle, gentle. “Or as long as you so wish.”

“...I need to sleep.” McCoy tried one last protest.

“You may rest here. I will assist you.” 

McCoy felt weak as a newborn kitten as Spock carefully divested him of his boots and set them aside. Gently, Spock coaxed him under the blankets. Grumbling, McCoy obeyed his man-handling. He was tired, so tired. He wished for the day to be over. He basked a moment in Spock’s blatant affection for him. He needed it as much as he needed sleep. He tried to commit the feeling to memory, knowing that this would not happen again.

Spock dimmed the lights. “I must meditate, Leonard. I will be here if you require me.”

He watched Spock go with heavy-lidded eyes. He took comfort in Spock curling up on the meditation mat with his feet tucked under his body. He watched Spock light the lamp. Heavy incense wafted through the air. It relaxed him. Sleep was near. He reached out and grasped it.

___

He awoke as Spock brushed the hair back from his face.

Spock pulled back. Had he been kissing him? “I apologize for waking you,” Spock whispered. “I must leave to dine with Nyota. You may remain here as long as you wish.”

McCoy nodded. He kept his eyes closed as he heard the door swish open and Spock leave. For a moment, McCoy thought about trying to go back to sleep, but he was awake now. 

He got up and looked at the chronometer, letting out a sigh of frustration when he saw that he’d barely slept four hours. He was a doctor; he knew this wasn’t good for him, but that didn’t change the fact that sleep was elusive. He couldn’t go back to sleep in Spock’s quarters. He felt embarrassed for falling asleep here in the first place. 

He slipped on his boots and left swiftly. 

McCoy found himself back at the medical center without thinking about it. When he entered, he saw that Scotty and Jaylah were visiting Sulu and Ben. Scotty waved as he walked in, but McCoy turned away.

He didn’t want to talk to them right then. He didn’t want to have to explain Sulu’s condition and his own ineptitude to yet another person. He hid in his office, reading through Tian’s report with blurry eyes. It barely made sense, but he had practiced medicine long enough to know what he was reading. No change in Sulu’s condition. No explanation in any of the lab work or scans. 

No explanation for Spock, either, but then there never was.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Spock and Uhura on their date. What were they doing right now? He imagined them at dinner, holding hands. Given what he knew about Vulcan courting rituals, that would be pretty risque. Still, they were in love. Of course they would hold hands as Spock explained that there was nothing going on between him and the CMO. 

Nothing at all.

McCoy knew he wouldn’t be able to focus until he got this out of his system. With a groan of distress, he pulled out his communicator.

“McCoy to Kirk,” he said. The communicator chirped happily, but there was no response. McCoy leaned in, glowering at the infernal machine. “Jim, you better pick up this damn communicator and answer back. I swear if I have to fly out into the god damned middle of fucking nowhere to get you to answer a damn call there won’t be enough of you left  _ to _ answer.”

The communicator beeped nervously, and the Jim’s blithe voice filtered through. “Having a bad day, Bones?”

McCoy sighed. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Would a drink make it better?”

Almost certainly not, but McCoy still said, “God, yes. How soon can you get here?”

___

“Spock and I are sleeping together.”

Jim nearly spit out his drink. “What!?”

The bar was packed despite being barely evening, and dimly lit. It was loud enough to mask their conversation but not so loud that it would give McCoy a headache. He’d picked it for expressly that purpose. All around them people milled about, falling in and out of conversations, playing holo-games, mingling with the smells of alcohol and sugar and sweat. 

“You heard me,” McCoy growled. He took another drink to steady his nerves, but told himself he wouldn’t have too much since he was still technically on duty at all times while Sulu was in the medical center.

They had tucked themselves into a little corner booth, which gave McCoy a vantage point to see anyone coming in or leaving.

“I heard you, Bones, but...You mean literally sleeping, or you’re fucking him?”

McCoy shot him a dirty look. “What the hell do you think?”

Jim whistled under his breath. “I knew there was something going on, but I didn’t expect this! I can’t decide if that would be the most boring thing ever, or if I should order you both a security escort to keep you from ripping each other’s heads off.”

“Glad to see you’re taking this seriously,” McCoy grumbled.

“Oh, I’m always serious about the health of my First Officer and my CMO. It just so happens that the greatest threat to one is usually the other.”

McCoy laughed. He had to admit that was true. “Well, maybe not any more.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since our second day at  _ Yorktown _ .” Seeing Jim’s gape, McCoy grimaced and shrugged. “I don’t know, okay? It just sort of… happened all of a sudden. He came to my quarters dressed to the damn nines and said he wanted to sleep with me!”

“Did he use the ‘Vulcan biology’ line?”

“What?” That did stir a memory in him. “I think so? Maybe? It’s all kind of blurry.”

“Yeah, that’d do it.” Jim nodded somberly. “Well, Bones, I’d congratulate you, but you seem pretty disturbed by the whole thing. What’s the problem?”

“He’s having dinner with Uhura right now.”

“Oh.” Jim pulled a face. “ _ Oh _ .” He started looking around the bar.

“Not  _ here _ ,” McCoy hissed. “Jesus, I have some dignity.” What little he had, though, seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

“Right, of course.” Jim settled back down. “But I thought they broke up?”

“I-I think they did,” McCoy said, trying not to let on how disappointed that made him feel. He remembered Spock’s somber face from just a few hours ago, the regret leaking from his fingertips. “We ran into her and I basically strong-armed Spock into going out with her. Dammit, Jim. He just looked so crestfallen! They may have broken up, but that relationship is not over.”

Jim was smiling a little, clearly confused yet intrigued. “You, who is Spock’s current boyfriend, made him go on a date with his ex-girlfriend?”

“We aren’t dating,” McCoy said gruffly.

“What--Bones, c’mon. Vulcans don’t just go around throwing themselves into the arms of anyone who passes by. If Spock is making any kind of effort at a relationship beyond a professional one, that means he likes you! He wants to kiss your face and hold hands and have your weird, crotchety, southern babies!”

“Oh, god, shut up.” He buried his face in his hands. “I always thought out of anyone it would have been…” He trailed off.

There was silence. Carefully, McCoy peeked out from between his fingers. Jim was glowing at him, leaning back in the booth and twirling the little stir stick in his drink with one finger. He was wearing a smirk that McCoy knew quite well. Jim was uncomfortable, deeply so, yet didn’t want anyone to know it. When his eyes crinkled at the corners like that McCoy could read him like a damned book.

“Would have been who, Bones?”

“You know who,” McCoy said, annoyed. “You, dammit.” 

Jim sighed and leaned in. His shoulders were tense as he folded his arms on the table. “Bones, there is nothing sexual going on between me and Spock, and there won’t be.”

“But not for lack of trying, huh?” McCoy groused. When Jim didn’t say anything, his eyes widened. “What the hell, Jim? Did he come to you?” The thought of being Spock’s third choice made McCoy’s blood run cold. Had he gone to Jim first and then, in a pique of rejection, thrown himself at McCoy?

“No, no, Bones. No, not...not like that. It didn’t happen how you’re thinking.”

“Then how did it happen?” He didn’t have the strength for anger. It would have been misplaced, anyway. He just felt tired, detached in a way that made him vaguely curious.

Jim seemed to consider how best to answer him. Finally, he looked down into his drink for guidance. “It happened in the other universe.”

“What?” 

“When the other Spock melded with me to explain the Nero problem, he tried to keep to just the facts but he...couldn’t. I guess in melds you can’t lie about what you’re thinking about, and what he was thinking about was me. Or, who I would be? Or something, I don’t know. He couldn’t hide his...affection? For the other Kirk. I think he was disappointed that our Spock and I didn’t get along very well at first.” He shrugged, smiling uncomfortably. 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Weirdly, it did, but McCoy tried not to show it. He couldn’t sort out his feelings into anything coherent. 

Jim gave him an exasperated look. “I didn’t think Spock and I would ever have a friendship like they did, yet here we are. But we talked recently and worked it out. I don’t want to have sex with him, Bones. Okay? You don’t have to worry about that.”

“...How recently?”

Jim just stared at him, frozen.

“Don’t you lie to me, Iowa.”

“I’m not...I wouldn’t lie to you.” He sighed deeply. “After you left him at my campsite, okay? He had some questions and I thought it would be a good chance to set the record straight. Bones, in retrospect his questions were probably about his relationship with you. You know that half the time I can’t interpret what he’s talking about until I drag it out of him.”

There was a certain plausibility to Jim’s words, but all McCoy could think about was Spock shopping around for other options without just talking to him first. Christ, it was bad enough that Spock was still clearly in love with Uhura. He started to stand up and realized he had nowhere to go. He sat back down. Jim was still looking at him.

“Normally when I’ve got problems like this I come to you,” McCoy said flatly.

“Normally when you have problems like this you sing them to the bottom of a bottle.”

McCoy chuckled automatically. “I suppose you’re right.” He lifted his glass and Jim clinked their drinks together. They both drank. After, McCoy let out a long breath, feeling tension untwist inside him. “Jim, I’m too old for all this running around and guess work. I haven’t had a real relationship since I torpedoed my marriage, but I...I don’t just want a fling with Spock.”

Jim clasped his shoulder in support. “Well, you are old,” he said.

McCoy turned to him, annoyed. But then he saw the look on Jim’s face and he had to chuckle. “You should’a been a counselor, Jim. You’re a natural.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters keep getting longer. This one wasn't so long until I basically rewrote the entire middle bit because McCoy was being so obstinate it didn't make any sense. I am so intrigued by all the beautiful comments and guesses being left here. I read them all, and it takes everything in my power not to respond with spoilers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is NSFW.

McCoy fell into a fitful sleep on his couch as he waited for Spock. He kept thinking that he was actually awake, but he couldn’t move. He was suffocating in his sleep. In his dream, Spock came into the room. He tried to call out to Spock, but Spock merely stood there, looking at him. He was choking. Why wouldn’t Spock help him? He had to reach out, to make Spock realize!

The door chimed.

He startled out of his shallow nap. “Ugh,” he groaned. He flopped around on the couch. “Come in.”

Spock slipped through the door. He stood in the center of the room and looked down at him. For a moment the dream Spock and the real Spock overlaid, and McCoy had to shake off the anxiety he felt. 

“Nyota has informed me that I have been ‘an idiot.’”

McCoy chuckled. “Well, you’re in good company then.” He scooched over on the couch and patted the cushion beside him. “Sit down, Spock.”

Spock sat stiffly. “If you will allow me an additional opportunity to explain my actions—”

“Spock, just zip it for a second.” McCoy sighed and ran his hand through his hair. In fact, he had made up his mind on how to proceed during his chat with Jim. Now he just had to actually say those three, dangerous words. “Meld with me.”

McCoy would have never thought that he’d live to see the day that Spock gaped at him, but there it was. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I am.”

“Forgive me, Leonard,” Spock said. “However, given your trepidation in sharing even the  _ ozh’esta  _ with me, this is a highly unexpected turn of events.”

“It… it is for me, too,” McCoy admitted. “Jim told me that a meld means we can’t hide anything from each other?”

Spock nodded.

“Maybe that’s what we need, then. A swift kick in the rear and the confidence not to second-guess ourselves.” At least, that was what  _ he _ needed. “Spock, this scares the hell out of me,” he said suddenly. “I’m not...big on sharing the stuff that goes on inside my head. It’s nothing I want anyone knowing about. I don’t even like knowing about it myself.”

“I am aware,” Spock said. He still seemed concerned. “I understand the risk you are taking by partaking in such an intimacy with me. If you wish, I will again swear to ignore any thoughts you share with me.”

McCoy considered the offer. On the one hand, it would make him feel better to know that whatever chaos his brain spewed out would never be mentioned by Spock. On the other hand, this was supposed to be about open honesty. And, since he was being honest, he knew he would never share his feelings with Spock unless he was forced to do so. He would just have to trick himself into being open. “No,” he said carefully. “I think I, I want to be able to talk to you about whatever we both find.”

Spock looked at him softly. “Very well, Leonard. I will support you.”

McCoy chuckled nervously. “Let’s just get this over with before I talk myself out of doing it at all.”

Spock gave him another moment to back out before slowly lifting his hand. McCoy closed his eyes as Spock sought out the psi points on his face. His searching fingertips felt warm and dry. McCoy had the most peculiar feeling that his face was leaking.

They breathed out together.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock said. The ritual words were almost a warning. “My thoughts, to your thoughts.”

He opened his mouth in the shape of the words, because Spock’s voice was his own, and then it was like dropping into a lake. The surface was warmed by the sun, but beneath that it was cold, dangerous. His legs dangled in the flowing water. He struggled to stay upright, to surface, but then he realized he could breathe. There was no water. He was not drowning.

The metaphor of the mind was powerful.

He was vaguely aware of his own body still breathing, still grounded on the couch. Rough fibers itched beneath his hands. Spock’s touch was soft against his face. Thin, recirculated air filled his lungs. He took hold of those solid, real things, and then he released them.

He and Spock were of the same mind.

“Hear...me,” Spock said in their shared unreality. Each word was a great effort, and McCoy felt the strain as if it were his own. “Ask… of me...what...you will.”

He asked, and Spock said, and they both whispered the same soft prayer, “Show me…”  _ UhuraNyota _ .

She was sweet.

Spock could not hide her from him, nor did he try. She came in flashes: the bridge, a lecture hall he didn’t recognize but which felt deeply personal to him, a silhouette in darkened quarters, a smile in a stalled turbolift, concerned eyes in the transporter room. More and more flashes and in each she was sweet.  _ Honey _ , thought a voice from nowhere and everywhere, and McCoy was not sure who had thought of the analogy, but it was true. She was honey, sticky and sweet. Cloying. He saw now that she was in every action that Spock took, every breath that he breathed. All that Spock did had been touched by her, and she had left a part of herself behind, stuck to every bit of him.

This was love, McCoy thought, amazed. Spock agreed.

Together, they could have collapsed under the weight of her, but Spock held them fast to reality.

“Show me…” he said, someone said, no one had to say.  _ DoctorLeonardMcCoy _ .

Ice.

Spock saw him as if across a great chasm, through eyes squinted against the cold wind. He was sharp edges, frozen solid yet constantly moving. He was ever out of reach by wind-chilled hands. McCoy felt a pang of horror—was that truly how Spock saw him?—and Spock seemed to cocoon him in warmth and concern.  _ Listen _ .

A single memory, and he knew it to be a memory, although it felt like reality and acted like a dream. His lips were flaking, parched. His fingertips burned on hot sand. He could no longer sweat. He could feel only the dry ache in his bones, his muscles, his skin.  He could only bow beneath the heavy drag of his thick robes. The sun was a thin, wavering disk in the sky. It made him see things where there was nothing to see. It made his head swim. It made his mouth open—desperate and panting, begging  _ please _ in the shape of words that were and were not his. It made him die slowly. Together they died under the hot, red sun of Vulcan, scorched on the sand.

Then, water.

Night fell at once, blank and dark without a moon. A single raindrop was joined by others, making rivers, piling up as the air grew cold enough to form ice. Glorious, refreshing, revitalizing  _ ice _ in the Vulcan night. They danced atop the cooling sand, kicking it wet and muddy into the air. The desert night was so cold their breath came in misty puffs and crystallized. Fell to their feet.  

And joy. 

Ice was joy.

Across the desolate, empty chasm, he saw himself as Spock saw him. A cool, blustering breeze intent to knock anyone down and incapable of doing so without hurting himself. A shard of ice, pressed against a sweating brow. A drop of dew, collected on a thirsty lip. He was frozen water. Life bringer.

This was love, Spock thought, content.

It hurt him to know this about himself. He said, “I…” and then he thought  _ ask me _ .

Spock asked,  _ How have we come to be? _

There were no words he could have used to explain. He had to build the thoughts up, and they echoed off the walls of his mind repeating and repeating and repeating, before coalescing into strong, singular ideas. He thought  _ medicine, biology, children _ . In his mind, he was in his quarters still, although it was years ago—no, only a few days ago when Spock had approached him with kind hands and deep, brown eyes. It only felt like years ago. And Spock was sitting there, where he sat now. And Spock was kissing him. And Spock was unexpected. Unexpected.

And he thought,  _ confusion _ . Spock was unexpected, yet not undesired. The fear of their first night together was strong and poignant in this memory; he felt Spock recoil from that fear before sliding closer, accepting it as inevitable and finding peace in it. The moment when they lay together and he had almost said  _ stop _ but he had not, and now he was glad that he had not, although perhaps he should have.

And he tried to think,  _ mistake _ . But he could not.

And he thought,  _ affection _ . And he thought,  _ impossible. _ And he thought _ , desire _ . And he thought,  _ warmth, devotion, tenderness, friendship, shield-brother, family, kindness, care _ . And he thought _ , please _ . And he thought,  _ fragile _ .

And he thought,  _ hatred _ , but that thought was directed only to himself, although it was Spock who felt it like a sting.

He could not hide his own hatred of himself. Spock could not hide his love for him. He tried to disappear, to disentangle himself from the rapid, frightening briars of his own mind. He pulled back. Tucked himself away. He protected his own, fragile self. If he was ice, he could be shattered.

In reality, an infinite distance away, his mouth opened. He spoke not unexpectedly, but he did speak. They said together, of one mind, “Show me…” _JimCaptainKirk_.

For the first time, Spock attempted to hide something from him. Or perhaps he attempted to hide from Spock. He felt it in the panicked twitch across the space of their minds. And then Jim was there.

He was sun.

Jim was not the red sun of Vulcan. He was gold. The sun of Earth, although Spock had never seen it in such splendor and could use it only as a metaphor. His skin glowed. He was overlaid with burnished, Vulcan characters that McCoy could not read, but he understood: this was the poetry of the sun. Difficult to look at, impossible to ignore. Jim felt of burning and brotherhood and gleaming metal. Whereas McCoy had been very far away, Jim was close. He was heat. And he glittered. He saw Jim on the bridge surrounded by a halo of light and he was standing next to him as he always did, simultaneously at Jim’s left and right hand—No. He  _ was _ Jim’s hands, both left and right, an extension of his body, warmed through mere association with him. For a moment McCoy could not tell where Spock’s impression of Jim ended and where his own began, for both thoughts were eerily similar, although mirrored.

“Stop,” he said, or Spock said, or they both said.

Suddenly he was alone.

McCoy gasped in pain at the sudden emptiness. His eyes pricked with tears. He wanted Spock back inside his head—regardless of who Spock was thinking about! It was so  _ lonely _ . He tried to breathe. It was impossible. He was hyperventilating. 

He felt Spock’s hand on his arm and that small contact grounded him once more. “Breathe evenly with me, Leonard,” Spock said, demonstrating by taking a slow, deep breath. McCoy watched him frantically and tried to follow along.

Gradually, he breathed.

When he’d finally gotten ahold of himself again, Spock said, “I apologize to you, Leonard. I believe I did not know that the intensity of my thoughts would pull you so deep, nor that breaking our connection would have such a deleterious effect.”

McCoy rubbed the wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand. “All those feelings...Your mind’s gift for metaphor is truly astounding, Spock.”

Spock almost smiled at him.

McCoy laughed and tipped his head back to the ceiling, gulping once. “I don’t understand how you can...can deal with that. How can you be with me when I leave you cold and alone? When you could have sunshine, or sweetness, or warmth? You love them more than me.”

Spock’s grip tightened. “No,” he said with conviction. “I only love them differently.”

They looked at each other. McCoy thought, not for the first time, although he had only started having these thoughts very recently, that Spock wore his emotions plainly in his depthless eyes. Brown, warm, and gentle, they practically sung to him the siren’s song he had been desperate not to hear. He laughed again, lighter this time. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t know.”

Spock tipped his eyebrow in amusement. “How could you be aware of that which I was incapable of sharing with you?”

“Our first night...together, I didn’t really know how much it meant to you. I just...went with it. I wanted to make you happy.”

“You have pleased me Leonard.” Spock was still holding him, tracing tiny circles in the fabric of his sleeve with his thumb. It seemed an unconscious act, but it felt good and grounding to McCoy.

“You make me happy, too.” He chuckled to himself. “In fact, to put it in terms even you can understand: it was very agreeable.”

Spock almost smiled at the little joke, but then he sobered. “I must inform you that the way you shy from my devotion to you affects me greatly. I wish to share my affection with you, yet it hurts you. How may I do better?”

McCoy swallowed thickly. He knew they had to talk about this, but at the moment he felt too emotionally thin to say anything worthwhile. “I, I’m not sure. There’s about a million reasons why this is damned near impossible for me. We can’t just work through them in a day, even with Vulcan voodoo at our disposal. I guess we’ll just have to keep trying together.”

Spock nodded. “This is acceptable.”

“Spock…” He felt he had to say it. “The way you feel about Jim. You should tell him.”

“I believe those thoughts did not originate solely with me, Leonard.” McCoy bristled with annoyance, but Spock went on. “Regardless, the Captain has made it clear on several occasions that he does not desire a relationship with me.”

“Mmhmm, I know that.” He frowned as Spock blinked at him in surprise. “I am capable of talking to him too, you know,” he groused. “He may not want in your pants, but I knew he would appreciate you being honest with him. And do you really want to go through life hiding how you feel? Seems like the kind of thing you would wind up regretting.”

“Indeed?” Spock asked. He seemed amused.

McCoy paused, replaying what he’d just said. He had to chuckle. “You’d better not try and turn my own words against me.”

“I would not dare to do so,” Spock said primly. “But I will consider them.”

“Good,” McCoy said. He was feeling a little light-headed. As quickly as he had fallen into despair he was swinging upward into euphoria. He had to suppress a giggle. Spock was looking at him with such gentle amusement that it made his heart soar. Carefully, he raised his hand, two fingers outstretched.

Spock looked to him, eyes lit with joy, and he met their fingers together.

After the intensity of their meld, this felt only mild and familiar. It was comforting to touch Spock’s skin again and feel the gentle rumble of his emotions. He could feel Spock’s pleasure and residual worry through the press of their fingers. He knew Spock could feel his own elation and trepidation, both mingled so closely together that he couldn’t tell where one feeling stopped and the other began.

He moved his fingers ever-so-slightly, a gentle caress, and Spock shivered.

“It is difficult,” Spock said.

McCoy looked up at him, then back to their joined hands. “Hm?”

“It is difficult to communicate effectively across the gulf between our cultures,” Spock clarified. “You are unlike other humans I have been in contact with. Although you are boisterous, you distract others from the depth and complexity of your own feelings. I have known this for some time, and in light of this I had attempted to employ the direction of an old Earth proverb to make clear my intentions to you. ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ I thought myself clever in this, but it is obvious now that I was not wholly successful.”

McCoy grinned at him. “So you were screaming at me that you liked me, and I was oblivious as always.” He could feel Spock’s mild embarrassment. It was strange. He’d known since the first day they’d met and Spock had slammed Jim into a console in rage that the Vulcan was a  seething pile of poorly-suppressed emotions, but they usually came out hard and fast. All this gentle, delicate emotion was disconcerting. He curled his fingers slightly, pressing into Spock’s skin with open curiosity. He wondered if he could deepen their connection just by getting closer.

“Leonard, in the interest of ongoing honesty, I must inform you that continuing to touch me in this manner may lead to unintended physical reactions.”

McCoy looked up at him, surprised. “You mean this little finger touch turns you on?”

Spock frowned. “I would not phrase it in quite that manner.”

He didn’t drop his hand. “But we did this in public. You said it was a ritual.”

“It is not dissimilar to a kiss, which I also find quite stimulating,” Spock explained. “All acts are acceptable only within certain contexts, and this one is no different. I did not wish to imply that you should stop, Leonard. It is only that I feel you must be informed of the potential for reaction if you continue to touch me. I...saw, in your mind, that your research into Vulcan biology was less comprehensive than I had originally assumed.”

“And whose fault is that?” McCoy groused. “I had to go up the chain of command and read restricted files just to learn that much!”

Spock sent him a little bundle of amusement across their touch. “My words are not a slight against you,” he said. “Although perhaps you should not share with me that you read classified documents in pursuit of a whim.”

“I didn’t say that, and you didn’t hear it.” He took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself. “It really doesn’t bother you that I didn’t...know I had all these feelings before you...you know…?” He gestured suggestively with his free hand.

Spock considered him. “It is a matter I will meditate on later,” he said finally. “But, by my initial assessment, I can find no fault in your actions. You have wished only to aid me.”

“A lot of good that’s done us,” McCoy said with a chuckle. “You’re going to have to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. I know enough to put you back together when you feel the need to jump head-first into danger, but I don’t know anything about how to make more of you.”

“And where would you have me begin?”

He almost responded with an actual scientific question but then he... _ felt _ something. If it had been an hour ago, before their meld, he would have dismissed the feeling as his own mind playing tricks on him. But now that he had been inside of Spock’s head, he knew better. The little feeling Spock sent him had to have been unintentional. It was equal parts longing, loneliness, and lust. 

McCoy grinned. He affected his best low drawl and asked, “Why don’t you teach me how to kiss?”

Spock’s gaze was heated. He did not speak. Slowly, measuredly, he began to move his hand. He traced the calloused pads of his fingertips down the length of McCoy’s own fingers, over his knobby knuckles, and along the back of his hand. His touch tickled the fine hairs there, and McCoy experienced it like a jolt of electricity. He felt the drag of Spock’s desire as he pulled his hand back up, frustratingly slow, and rested their fingers together again. Spock waited.

Just as slowly, just as carefully, McCoy mirrored his movements. He wasn’t a touch telepath, and the moment Spock’s fingertips were no longer touching him he lost what Spock was feeling. But he could still read it in the burn of his eyes, the twitch of muscles beneath his skin. Spock swallowed roughly as McCoy stroked him. When he came back to rest, he felt a surge of desire across their touch.

“How was that?” he asked faux-flippantly.

“There is more,” Spock said. His voice was rough.

He kept his touch so light there were moments when McCoy thought they weren’t touching at all, but they were, and that knowledge sparked something new inside of him. Spock was a good teacher. He learned to trace Spock’s soft skin, the knob of his wrist, the delicate pads of his hand. Each new inch of Spock that he explored seemed to elicit a different, very interesting reaction. Spock’s gaze was truly hot now and he was flushed slightly green with arousal. Whenever their fingertips brushed McCoy was hit with all of Spock’s desire, tightly coiled like a spring.

He figured Spock could spend hours like this, carefully mapping the contours of his skin and concentrating only on their hands. But McCoy was human, and had human wants. He took Spock’s hand into his and turned it so that the palm was facing upwards and he could kiss it.

Spock’s lips parted delightfully. “That is not the Vulcan way.”

McCoy dragged his lips over Spock’s palm again, looking up at him from beneath fluttering eyelashes. “You know I’ve never been very good at following the Vulcan way.”

He kissed Spock’s long fingers one by one and gently nipped at his thumb. Spock was holding very still, as though he could barely contain himself, or perhaps he wished to focus on every moment. That suited McCoy just fine. He kept up his work, poking out his tongue to trace the life lines on Spock’s palm. He kissed the creases of his slightly bent fingers, trailed his tongue in the spaces between the digits. He closed his lips over the end of his index finger and suckled gently, just tasting Spock’s skin.

Spock grasped his chin suddenly and tipped his head up and away from his hand, drawing him so close that they shared the same breath. Kissing, human-style, felt unexpectedly jarring after that. Spock’s lips were soft, hungry. Spock worked his lips open with excellent technique, stroking him, lapping at him, nipping at his lips and wrenching gasps from his open mouth. McCoy swooned under the touch, and then hated himself for swooning. He ran his hands through Spock’s hair possessively, intent on messing it up and finding himself only mildly disappointed when his hair fell neatly back into place.

He gave up the hair-chase and took Spock’s hand into both of his, massaging the long fingers and soft pad of his palm as they kissed. He traced the bones under Spock’s skin with surgeon’s precision, naming them in his mind as he went. He wasn’t totally sure what he was doing, but judging by the tight control Spock was currently forcing upon himself, he was doing alright for himself. Spock’s studious non-reaction began a slow burn inside him and he coaxed it into flame. He relished in Spock’s body—or at least, his hand and his lips.

He pulled back after a long while and smiled dopily at Spock, admiring him. His lips were pressed-green from their activities, and his pupils were blown wide. His mouth hung open an extra moment, seeking McCoy’s touch still, and McCoy had to bite his own lip at the sight of Spock so pleasure-rumpled. “Spock, I’ve got to ask you something.”

“You may ask of me whatsoever you wish, Leonard.”

“You’re cute.” When Spock merely looked affronted, he purred,  “Will you take me to bed?”

Spock reached up and held McCoy’s face in his hands, smoothing his skin with a light touch as he gazed at him searchingly. “Are you certain this is what you desire? Experiencing the concerns you had during our first coupling has encouraged me to be cautious.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and turned his head to kiss Spock’s palm reassuringly. “That was normal human trepidation, Spock. We can’t all always be as one-hundred-percent sure of ourselves as you are.”

“That must be a very taxing existence,” Spock commented. He quirked one eyebrow.

“It’s easier than you think,” McCoy said with the same amount of humor. “Now, are you going to answer my question?”

He did. Spock curled his body inward, wrapping his strong arms around McCoy’s waist and scooping him up. McCoy would swear that he took to this manhandling in the most dignified manner possible, but he did still let out a little squeak of concern as Spock lifted him up. He wrapped his legs around Spock’s body, intrigued and a bit stunned, and took to kissing him again as Spock carried him to the anteroom. 

Spock laid him down on the bed and followed right after. He raised his hand and McCoy tangled their fingers together inelegantly, desperately. It felt good to lie there with Spock; felt good to feel the long line of his body above him. It felt like the gentle support of leaning against Spock in the elevator, and it felt like the eroticism of fucking Spock into the ground just over there. A thrill of pleasure went through him and both of Spock’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Leonard, I believe you are having impure thoughts.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I initially suspected when you began orally pleasuring my hand, and your subsequent erection has added credence to my theory. However, it was confirmed by the embedded lust within your last telepathic signal.

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Lord, give me strength not to beat this fool Vulcan about the head.”

Impossibly, Spock’s eyebrows went higher. “That is not a very pleasant—” the rest of his words were lost into McCoy’s mouth.

They kissed hot, all-teeth and recklessness. McCoy kept one hand tangled with Spock’s as he worked the other down between them. He ignored his own erection in favor of unfastening Spock’s trousers. He wanted to get Spock into the heat of things, which would involve some more delicate work. He slipped his hand beneath Spock’s clothes and sought out the little lok. When he found it, a shiver rolled through Spock’s body and he buried his face in the crook of McCoy’s neck.

McCoy listened to him breathing his steady breaths. His ear was enticingly close, and so McCoy licked at it, catching the curved arch with the point of his tongue.

Spock jerked away, looking scandalized. “Leonard,” he warned.

“If you don’t want me to lick ‘em, you’d better keep my mouth busy.”

He expected Spock to go straight back to kissing him, but instead Spock looked downright contemplative. Before McCoy could ask, he felt Spock’s free fingers gently probing at his lips. The brushed over the philtrum and McCoy instantly dropped open his mouth, sucking the digits inside.

Spock arched his back and—oh,  _ oh _ . Was that a  _ moan _ ? McCoy wanted to believe. It had been such a tiny sound, but he was desperate for more. He wanted to wrend those sounds from Spock’s throat and revel in them. He wanted to tear down the walls of Spock’s defenses and hold him close, protect him. 

He applied teeth and tongue to Spock’s fingers, sucking at them with more violence than he would ever dare employ on a cock. Spock buried his next sound into McCoy’s neck again, biting lightly at the skin there. McCoy wanted him to leave a mark. He wanted to be able to look at it later and tell himself that this was real. When he doubted himself, he wanted to be able to point at it and think about Spock curled above him, wrought with pleasure. He tried to send that wish across the touch of their hands, but he wasn’t sure how much got through. Spock kept sucking at his neck, at least.

They were a tangled mess of limbs in their cross-cultural, inter-species, heavy-petting session. He could feel Spock responding to the touch on his lok; he cock was slowly peeking out, almost curious about the happenings. No doubt Spock would have chastised him for anthropomorphizing genitals, but he didn’t care. He was too swept up in it all. He wanted to take Spock into his hand and hold their cocks together, feel the slide of flesh over flesh. The slick Spock’s body produced would make it gloriously easy, and he shook with anticipation.

That was when his comm pinged him.

They both froze. The comm pinged a second time, urgently, and a voice filtered through. “Nurse Abel to Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy spat out Spock’s fingers and disentangled his hands. He nearly fell over trying to get out of bed as he rushed towards the comm. He slapped the panel, remembering at the last second to do audio only, and said gruffly, “McCoy here.”

Jesus, even without a visual to give away what he’d been doing, his voice surely would. He sounded wrecked.

Abel didn’t seem to notice. He was too excited. “Sir, Lieutenant Sulu is beginning to rouse from his coma!”

“I’ll be down there right away,” he said. He was already fixing his hair, which Spock had somehow gotten to tangle up without him noticing. “Give me ten minutes. McCoy out.”

He was still fixing his hair as he turned back to Spock to explain, only to stop short.

Spock was propped upright by one lean arm, his hand on the bed, and he was still breathing more deeply and more evenly than normal. His hair was immaculate as ever, but his eyes were nearly black with arousal and his cheeks were slightly flushed. His shirt was rucked up and with his pants undone, McCoy could see just the tip of his damp and needy cock poking out.

“Damn,” he said. Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “I have to go.”

“I am aware.” Spock slid off the bed and began putting himself back together, looking a little pained as he pressed his penis back into its slit. Apparently doing that hurt.

McCoy looked away. He stumbled into his boots and threw a jacket over his shirt, to disguise the wrinkles. It had already been shot to hell from wearing it two days in a row, and that was before he and Spock had started getting hot and heavy. “We should continue this, though,” he said as he hastily dressed. “When I get back?”

Spock was doing one of his almost smiles again. “I will await you.”

McCoy grinned and bounced on his heels, and he kept that bounce in his step all the way to the medical center.

__

“Well, Mr. Sulu, I don’t quite know how you did it, but you managed to shake off a coma, heart failure, and dementia like they were merely symptoms of the common cold.”

In the eight minutes it had taken McCoy to run and teleport across the station, Sulu had woken completely. Abel and Tian had both descended on him with their hands full of data and scans the moment McCoy had stepped into the center. They were just as perplexing as the earlier tests had been. They had pored over them awhile to no avail, and so now McCoy was walking Sulu and Ben through what they had found—or rather, failed to find.

“Just lucky, I guess.” Sulu had not let go of Ben’s hand since he’d woken up, and Ben was staring at him like he wasn’t quite sure he could trust his eyes. He startled every time Sulu spoke.

“It’s a fool who trusts his health to luck,” McCoy quipped. “But, on the other hand it seems ol’ lady luck is on our side tonight. She’s served us well in the past, so I’m not inclined to worry too much about this particular turn around.”

“I really am feeling much better, Doc.”

He looked it, too. If McCoy hadn’t known otherwise he would have never guessed that merely an hour ago Sulu had been in a level-five coma. He still looked tired, but there was color back in his cheeks and his eyes were bright and alert. “I’m going to start you on a pharmaceutical regimen to repair your liver and stomach function, and to regrow your kidney. The heart’s going to require physical therapy, and I’m going to have to get you a consult for your brain.”

“My brain?”

“We can’t be sure of the extent of the damage yet. Given where the physical signs manifested, you should be prepared to have reduced reaction time. It may be harder to remember things than you’re used to. Solving logic problems and the like might be more difficult. But, the brain is resilient. With some therapy and a little patience you should expect a full recovery.”

Sulu visibly relaxed. He squeezed Ben’s hand. “Is this the kind of therapy that requires me to languish in sickbay all by my lonesome?”

McCoy chuckled. “No, you can have visitors. You’ve actually had quite a few, but you’ve been a terrible host. I’m sure the crew will be happy to visit again now that you can talk back.”

“And Demora?” He looked at Ben.

“She’s staying the night with one of her friends,” Ben said. “I could comm them and ask them to bring her over?” He didn’t seem to want to leave Sulu’s side for a second.

Seeming to sense his distress, Sulu lay his other hand over Ben’s. “She’s probably asleep already. We can surprise her in the morning.”

McCoy excused himself to give them privacy and went into his office to ponder the situation. Tian and Abel had left their datadiscs on his desk and he picked one up, turning it over in his hands. As near as the three of the could tell, Sulu had come out of his coma the old fashioned way. His body had simply healed itself. It wasn’t the most medically interesting thing in the world, and it certainly belied the fantastical way he had entered the coma in the first place, but it was still a positive sign.

He pulled up a chair to look at the tests more closely, only to be surprised when he saw there was already a disc loaded into his computer. He didn’t recall leaving it there.

When he opened it, he saw why. It was Scotty’s report on the life-stealing technology he had destroyed. It was marked for a level of security McCoy was sure he didn’t normally have access to. He wasn’t going to question it, however. Instead he sent a silent thank you to Commodore Paris. He assumed Scotty had delivered the physical file when he’d visited Sulu earlier, no doubt because sending it digitally represented a security risk. Of course, leaving it sit around did, too, but then he wasn’t in security so what did he know?

He glanced through the specs that Scotty had drawn up, vaguely intrigued but not totally sure what he was looking at. After a few minutes he closed the file. He thought about replicating himself a midnight snack, but then he realized: Sulu was fine. He could just go home.

Home, where Spock lay waiting. 

His heart swelled at the thought. He didn’t even try to tamp down the ridiculous grin that grew at the mere idea. That damned Vulcan was really getting to him.

As he left the medical bay he studiously ignored the fact that Ben and Sulu had pulled shut the privacy curtain and were being a little  _ too _ quiet. Let them have their moment together. He had a moment of his own to get to. 

He paused outside the door to his quarters, fixing his hair. His hand fell to his necklace, tucked under layers of clothes, and he thought about how Spock saw him: icy and alone. It hadn’t really hit him before how lonely he must appear to others, and he shivered at the realization before pushing inside.

Spock was still there, lying on the bed atop the covers with his fingers steepled together at his chin. The lights were dimmed slightly, and Spock looked vaguely ethereal in the warm yellow glow. He looked warm and McCoy wanted to just crawl right into his arms. He glanced over as McCoy stepped into the room.

“Hey,” McCoy said gently. “Sorry, did I wake you? Or were you meditating?”

“Neither, Doctor,” Spock said. “I was merely contemplating the likelihood that I would be required to fetch you from your work again today.”

“Joke’s on you, Spock. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I am a functioning adult capable of taking care of myself.” Through their light banter he kept smiling. He slipped off his boots and jacket, and then tugged off his shirt. He let them fall into a messy pile on the floor just to see the way Spock’s eyebrow twitched with annoyance.

“I will assist you in placing those items in the laundry,” Spock said, and began to rise.

“No you won’t.” He padded across the room and slid onto the bed, folding himself over Spock and gazing down at him.

Spock lay back down, intrigued. “A sound argument, Leonard. I believe I will remain here instead.”

McCoy chuckled low in his throat. He held up two fingers. “So tell me, Spock. Where were we?”

Spock met his hand and his burning gaze, and told him.

___

After, they tangled together beneath the covers. Once Spock had returned from washing up he had curled around McCoy, trailing his long hands over his arms and back and looking at him with such heavy fondness McCoy thought he may be crushed. McCoy felt like giggling again. He reveled in their shared nakedness and sleepily asked, “So how  _ did _ your date with Uhura go?”

Spock stiffened. “Leonard…”

“Now, hang on just a minute.” He took Spock’s face into his hands and kissed him gently. “I’m not upset and I’m not being self-deprecating. I just… care about your happiness. And she makes you happy. So tell me. How did it go?”

Spock considered him before closing his eyes. He curled in closer, hugging McCoy to his chest. “It went well,” he said. “I have now explained the full complexities of why I wished to go to New Vulcan. I have also informed her of the nature of my relationship with you.”

“Oh?” His heart skipped a beat. Some dark place in him wished he could have been a fly on that wall, so that he knew what to call this thing happening between them. 

“She is...happy, for me. For us.” Spock kissed his shoulder. 

McCoy hummed in response. “Do you wish you two were still together?”

In that tranquil, early-morning space, still sex-sated and close enough to feel each other’s hearts beating, Spock considered his question. The  _ Yorktown _ didn’t hum like the  _ Enterprise _ did (had, McCoy corrected himself blankly), but there was still a white noise from somewhere. It felt a bit like home, and that contented him.

“I believe it was a mistake and an unkindness to treat her in such a manner,” Spock said eventually. “But being here with you I would not trade for anything. There is nothing of equal or greater value in all the universe. I find contemplation of a life without you to be impossible.”

McCoy swallowed the emotions welling in his throat. “Spock,” he croaked. He paused, swallowing again. “You know, a life with me and a life with her aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Spock pulled away to look at him. He reached up and gently touched his face, mapping what McCoy knew to be psi points, although he didn’t try to duck into his mind. Perhaps it soothed him to know they were there. “As devotion to a single partner is the Vulcan way, it would seem those lives cannot simultaneously exist.”

McCoy chuckled. “Well, as we’ve already established, I’d make a terrible Vulcan, and sometimes you’re not so hot at it yourself.”

“There is no need for insults, Leonard,” Spock said fondly. “But is not monogamy also in the human custom?”

McCoy considered the question. Somehow, without his volition, his eyes fell to the tiny scar beside Spock’s heart. He rested his hand there. Spock felt cool to the touch, and he thought about the last person he had held like this. The last person whose stomach he had touched in search of answers.

“You know I’ve been divorced,” he said.

Spock didn’t seem to think the non sequitur odd. “Yes,” he said. “This information is a part of your service record.”

“Growing up I had always wanted that kind of family.” His words came to him slowly. “A wife, two kids, a farm, a little country practice where I could do some good medicine. And when I met Jocelyn it was perfect, because she seemed to want all of that, too. You know, we met at a square dance? In this century things like that don’t happen by chance. You both have to be pretty old-fashioned. But of course, we weren’t really  _ old _ -anything. We were just young and naive. Hell, I was only twenty and she was eighteen! Way too young to be deciding all those big things.”

He realized he was shaking only when Spock smoothed back his hair. He looked up at him and that hurt, so he looked back at the scar. That hurt, too, but it was a familiar pain. “When she got pregnant, I thought I could never be happier. I still look back on that time with such...But it didn’t work out. I would have done anything to keep her, but she didn’t want to keep me. And I wasn’t...healthy. She had someone who could be a better dad than I ever could have been. I think I blamed her for that a long time. When we divorced, she took my whole world.” He took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out. “All my life I’ve wanted that kind of family. The kind Sulu and Ben have. The kind she and I could have had. When Jocelyn left, I thought I was giving up on ever having a family.”

He had to look at Spock then, to meet his bright gaze head-on. The silence was a tangible force that McCoy had to push through and he said, “But maybe I was just giving up on having  _ that _ kind of family.”

Spock made a tiny sound of distress. “ _ Ashayam _ ,” he said, and McCoy didn’t know exactly what that meant but it felt powerfully right. “I would be honored to be a part of your family.”

McCoy smiled crookedly. “You should know I don’t take family lightly. I always take care of them, even when they don’t appreciate it.”

“I would not ask you to change such an essential part of yourself.”

“I mean it! I’m persuasive and  _ very _ nosy.”

Spock looked fond again. “I have noticed.”

“Just so you know what you’re getting into.” He bumped their foreheads together. “So you won’t be surprised when I tell you I’m very invested in your love life.”

Spock did not look surprised at all, but it was hard to tell when he was close enough to kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer, folks. I was busy at a conference that left me exhausted. But here it is!

The next morning came early. He awoke to Spock’s hands on his waist, soft breath on the back of his neck, lips gently kissing his ear. He felt warm and pleasant, and with a sigh he rolled over and tried to glare at Spock. He utterly failed.

“What time’s it?”

“It is 0610 hours.”

McCoy sighed and burrowed into Spock even as he said, “I can’t stay in bed. I have to get up.”

Spock kissed the top of his head. “I know.”

With a few tired groans and a plethora of swearing, McCoy managed to sit up. He didn’t get much further. He blinked sleepily and stared down at his blankets as Spock brushed his hand over the small of his back.

“You are planning to shower?” Spock asked.

McCoy rubbed the crust from his eyes. “You calling me stinky?”

“It is not the most endearing of 'pet names,' as you would say, however it is accurate.”

He laughed and glared down at Spock. “You planning to give me more of these atrocious pet names?”

Spock didn’t really answer. He kept tracing little patterns on the skin at the small of McCoy’s back. “May I join you?”

McCoy gazed at him, cataloging him. Spock’s hair was still fairly neat, although delightfully sleep-rumpled on one side. His eyes were bright and mischievous, and McCoy wondered how long he’d been awake, just lying there cuddling him. Spock had a sleep crease on one cheek and it gave McCoy an almost irresistible urge to kiss him. He gave in to the urge, and sighed. “I want to say yes,” he explained. “But I know if I let you in there with me I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you, and we’d never leave. I need to get to the med center as soon as possible to check on Sulu. I’m hoping to give him a clean bill of health this morning.”

Spock nodded. “Understandable.”

McCoy hesitated. He didn’t seem frustrated or disappointed, but with Spock it was sometimes hard to tell. “Next time?”

Spock smoothed his hand over McCoy’s back, tracing the bumps of his spine with his long fingers. “Yes.”

He took a sonic shower, as they were faster. The moment he stepped into the shower he wished he had taken Spock up on his offer. It felt very lonely. He ran the dermal scrubber over his body methodically, listening to the even _thrum_ of the shower. He wondered if Spock was still lazing in bed--and there was a thought. Spock lazing. It seemed ludicrous. No doubt he had gotten up already and was halfway through some reports. McCoy assumed he would leave the bathroom to find Spock with his hair combed and his clothes pressed, sitting at the table and reading a PADD. Maybe he would be drinking tea, and he’d look up at McCoy with that fondness again. The fantasy was nice.

It astonished him how fast he had fallen for Spock domestically. He wanted to share those dumb little moments with the Vulcan. He wanted to cook breakfast with him, and chat about nothing, and ask about his day. He wanted their things to mingle on his bedside table. He wanted to come home and see Spock’s PADD next to his glass of water, Spock’s clothes evenly spaced with his in the closet, Spock’s meditation mat constantly vying for space with their couch. He wanted Spock in his space always, and the realization of this was a little disconcerting.

He took a palmful of hair-washing powder and ruffled it through his hair. McCoy wondered if Uhura had these thoughts, if she still did. She was an explorer like the rest of them. In fact she had taken to exploring far more easily than McCoy had, as far as he could tell. He had come to Starfleet because he’d had no other options but he’d always assumed the rest of the crew did this because it was their calling, or some such nonsense. But maybe she still thought about domesticity occasionally. He realized that he wasn’t even sure that Uhura and Spock had shared quarters. He had never been inside Spock’s quarters on the _Enterprise_ , although he knew that on most starships the first officer lived adjacent to the Captain. He’d been in Jim’s quarters plenty of times, but he’d never thought to check if Spock lived next door. And although he’d socialized with Spock outside of duty often enough, it had always been in public spaces. He could count on one hand how often he’d spent time with Uhura while they weren’t on duty.

Well, that had to change. McCoy came to a decision as he stepped out of the shower. He was beginning to understand how much Spock still cared for Uhura. Perhaps he even understood this more than Spock himself did. But if they were going to make some kind of...what? Polyamorous relationship? If they were going to make it work, McCoy would have to get to know her, too. He would do that for Spock.

When he stepped back into his room dressed and ready for the day, he saw Spock wandering around in just his pants. McCoy grinned lasciviously at him.

“Lost your way?”

Spock paused. “I wish to escort you to the medical center. However, I have neglected to bring an additional change of clothing.”

McCoy chuckled. “You really are chivalrous, aren’t you?” He swaggered over and placed his hands at the little bony divots of Spock’s hips, pulling him close and brushing their lips together. He lost track of what he had meant to say as they kissed for a while, just leaning on each other in the center of the room with Spock cupping his face and McCoy tracing his fingers over all of Spock’s soft, exposed skin. Eventually, reluctantly and with sharp disappointment, McCoy pulled back. “...As much as I’d like you to come with me just like this, we probably shouldn’t frighten the children. You can borrow some of my clothes if you like. Pick whatever fits best.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded once. He pulled away with a reluctance he hid much better than McCoy’s and went to dig through McCoy’s closet. McCoy left him to it and went to the replicator. He had to concentrate very hard on ordering his coffee.

“And, Spock…” he said, not looking at him. He could still feel it under his skin as Spock turned questioningly. “If you want, you can bring some of your things over. If you’re going to be spending the night you should at least have something to wear in the morning.”

“Thank you, Leonard,” Spock said instantly, and something tight and coiled in McCoy relaxed at his words.

This was what he had wanted: this domesticity. It was still hard to ask for.

McCoy sat at his desk while Spock bathed, considering the promise he had made to himself. If he was going to get to know Uhura, he might as well just go for it. He felt too awkward to leave a voice message, so instead he sent her a written request for them to grab a coffee sometime. After, his heart was pounding and he felt sick. Just that tiny request seemed too big. He could picture her receiving the message, disgusted. Maybe she would want to talk about how he was no good for Spock, and he wouldn’t really be able to _disagree_ —

He tried to stop that line of thought. He reminded himself, over and over, that Spock cared for him. Knew he was a fuck up and didn’t mind. In fact, Spock wanted to _help_ him through his constant screw ups. He told himself, firmly, although still disbelieving, that coffee with Uhura would go fine. They both cared for Spock, and that was the most important thing.

He was about halfway through his coffee and morning-freak-out when Spock exited the bathroom again. His hair was neatly combed and his stubble was repressed. He’d even put on a little eye-shadow, which looked dashing in the light. He was wearing one of McCoy's leisure shirts, a pale-blue number that Jim had gotten for him their first day at _Yorktown_. It was the twin to the shirt Jim had gotten him at the start of their five-year mission. Jim had gotten him that one during what was possibly their only uneventful shoreleave.

Jim had made him try on a lot of clothes at _Yorktown_ , to replace what had been lost.

McCoy shook himself. “That was fast.”

Spock tilted his head. “It is logical to be efficient in one’s morning preparations.”

McCoy squinted at him. “You saying I’m not efficient?”

“Yes,” Spock said.

McCoy barked out a laugh. “You—! You get over here, you...Vulcan.” He couldn’t think of anything more acerbic than that.

Spock looked like he was about to smile, but then he pressed his lips together and seemed to swallow the reaction whole. His lips were slightly down-turned—their normal resting position—as he glided over and bent his head to kiss McCoy. McCoy sighed into it, equal parts melancholy and joy.

McCoy finished his coffee in a long gulp, and the two of them set out together, side-by-side. As they walked along the twisted metal branches of the station McCoy kept his gaze fixed downward. Looking up made him feel slightly dizzy, although he was getting better about being trapped in a floating plastic ball. There was no red sky this morning, just black emptiness beyond the sheets of plastic and metal. He studied his own feet, occasionally, and the clanging metal walkway. Around them, people bustled to and fro, moving about their daily lives in the sleepy morning air. Even in space the world spun to the beat of sleep and wakefulness. His hand brushed against Spock’s once as they walked, or perhaps Spock brushed against him, and he had the strangest feeling—like he was surrounded by the hum of a deflector shield. He didn’t notice that he was walking with his head up until the reached the medical center.

He was surprised to see that Jim was already there visiting Sulu, and that Ben was gone. Jim looked up from his chat with Sulu, and his eyes were still sparkling with laughter at whatever Sulu had just said—and then he shifted. His bright gaze waffled between Spock and McCoy, and McCoy watched as his laughter dropped from his face like a stone plunging into a lake. The echoing ripples reverberated quickly, and in a split second Jim was smiling again.

Jim was still looking at Spock’s shirt, though.

“Bones! Sulu and I were just discussing breakout strategies. Promise not to listen in to our master plans?”

“No promises,” McCoy said on autopilot. He tried to process his own reaction to Jim’s smile and failed. He scowled, mostly at the mess of confusion he felt, and stalked over to them. He grabbed his medical tricorder and began to scan Sulu with short, jerky movements. “And there will be _no_ leaving this biobed until I have give you a full workup and a clean bill of health. Need I remind you of the _coma_ you were in yesterday?” He trailed off, muttering under his breath about damned irresponsible people in their equally-damned command gold uniforms…

Jim chuckled wryly at him and gave Sulu a look that said, _I told you so_.

Spock was suddenly at his side, making McCoy jump in surprise. “How is your recovery, Lieutenant?”

“I’m feeling better than I did yesterday, that’s for sure,” Sulu said. “Doc told me my head is full of holes, but I think he’d say that no matter what.”

Spock nodded sagely. “If that is the case, you should refrain from tipping your head too far to the side. The results may be unfortunate.”

McCoy froze in his scanning and just stared at Spock. Sulu was staring at him, too. McCoy couldn’t believe it. Had that been a _joke_? There was a beat, and then Jim snickered, and pretty soon Sulu was laughing, too, the great guffaws of a man just happy to still be alive, and they both chuckled inelegantly and Jim slapped Sulu once on the shoulder. He gave Spock a quick pat as well, but weirdly his twinkling gaze was locked on McCoy.

McCoy huffed at their shenanigans. He let their conversation fade out, focusing mostly on Sulu’s scans and barely registering Spock’s polite interrogation of Sulu. Spock really did make an excellent executive officer, taking the time to look after the crew like this. McCoy felt he had always known this, but usually he was too busy being blindly mad at the world to pay much attention. The realization made him feel proud.

“Ben actually just left to pick up Demora,” Sulu was saying. “They were going to grab me some breakfast. Honestly, this hospital food will be the real death of me.”

“You shouldn’t eat outside food,” McCoy cut in.

“But Doc! They’re bringing me waffles! And Ben promised strawberries. Real ones. _Red_ strawberries. Don’t you remember what that’s like?”

“Yeah, Bones! Let the man live a little.”

"Doctor, perhaps in this one instance an exception to normal operating procedures would not have adverse effects on the health and safety of the crew.”

McCoy looked at Spock, aghast. He expected this nonsense from Jim and Sulu, but from _Spock_? Maybe he was too good at his job as executive officer. Spock merely gazed back at him evenly, and McCoy felt the most curious combination of being riled up and fit to fight, and of being calmed and soothed by that gaze. He flopped towards soothed, feeling the warmth run up his body and seep out in a slow, gentle smile. How could he say no to the three of them?

“Oh, alright. As long as you don’t make a mess of things. And you!” He jabbed a finger at Jim. “Stay away from those strawberries! I don’t need a case of anaphylactic shock ruining my day.”

Jim raised his hands in deference. “I wouldn’t dream of impositioning you, Bones.”

Spock was looking inordinately pleased with himself. McCoy could tell because his mouth was a flat line. “I must attend to an appointment,” he said.

McCoy realized with a start that he had no idea what Spock did during the day. Embarrassed at his own oversight, he promised himself he would ask Spock that evening. He thrilled at the idea of sharing dinner together, chatting about their days.

Spock nodded his leave to Jim and Sulu. “Captain. Lieutenant.” He turned to McCoy and raised his hand. “Doctor.”

Spock looked so relaxed and at ease that McCoy met his fingers without even thinking about it. He nearly jumped when he felt Spock’s ease was purely affected; in reality, he was deeply concerned and...sad? Spock flickered his gaze to Jim and back again. The whole exchange took less than a second.

McCoy dropped his hand. “Bye,” he said inanely.

Spock glided out of the medical center, leaving McCoy standing there and feeling like he’d just been hit by a shuttle. He rubbed his sweaty palm against his pant leg and turned back. He grimaced at the look on Jim’s face. His eyes were wide, but he was smiling. His face was so stretched that it looked physically painful.

Sulu only nodded. “I thought so.”

McCoy growled and whipped up his tricorder threateningly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” He could feel a hot blush traveling up the back of his neck. His hair was sweating. He mentally cursed Spock for kissing him and then stranding him here to deal with the fallout. He would give Spock a chewing out later. He tried to concentrate through the embarrassment. “Well, your kidney is back where it should be, and we’ve got a 15% increase in liver function and a 18% increase in your stomach. I’d say you’re well on the road to recovery.”

Sulu’s mouth wobbled like he was trying to repress another Spock-related comment. Before he could say anything, Jim blessedly rescued him.

“Bones, can I chew your ear for a second? I’ve got such a headache that only your capable hands can offer relief.” He smirked. And winked!

Had McCoy said rescue? He meant torture. He rolled his eyes and grabbed Jim by the arm, dragging him across the room and into his office. He could hear Sulu snickering at them the whole shameful walk. He left the door open to disincentivize himself from beating Jim too savagely. He rounded on his friend, boiling, only to have his frustration dissipate like a collapsing sun. The echo of Spock’s concern reverberated through him, and he thought Jim had to be in a pretty bad way for _Spock_ to recognize it.

“What do you need Jim?”

“I actually do have a headache,” Jim said. He sat on McCoy’s desk and swung his leg jauntily. He held his fingers infinitesimally far apart. “Just a tiny one.”

McCoy sighed and scrubbed at his face. The day had already made him tired. He scrounged around his desk and came up with a small bottle of pills.

“So,” Jim said as he searched, drawing the word out far past its prime. “How are _things_? Things are good? Did you talk to him? It went well? You told him you want to have his weird emotionless babies right back?”

“We didn’t talk much.” He saw Jim’s eyes widen in surprise and he quickly backpedaled. “I mean—that’s not what I meant. We talked, but we also did a meld. I took your advice about that.”

Jim accepted the proffered pill and dry swallowed it. “I gave you advice to meld with Spock?”

“Well, I figured our Spock would be just as open with me as Ambassador Spock had been with you.”

Jim gasped in mock surprise. “How logical of you! I can see Spock is already rubbing off on you.” He pulled a face as he realized what he’d said.

McCoy ignored his terrible choice of words. “Oh, knock it off.” He punched Jim lightly on the knee as he sank into his guest chair.

“I’m happy for you, Bones.”

McCoy considered him for a moment. He actually did look happy, and not just the fake happy from earlier. McCoy wondered about the many smiles of James T. Kirk. His charming smiles had been well-honed to direct away all but the basest of attentions, but maybe McCoy had been mistaken in his interpretations of Jim’s smile earlier. It could have been that Jim was just surprised to see Spock wearing his shirt. The shirt Jim had gotten him. McCoy tried to think of a way to ask if Jim was jealous without making him shut down.

He couldn’t think of anything. “There’s still plenty of ways for things to go wrong,” he said instead, covering up his insecurity and anxiety with a good-old-fashioned bad temperament.

Jim laughed at him. “You’re such a ball of sunshine, Bones.” McCoy wondered what Jim would think of sun if he’d been the one seeing the inside of Spock’s head. “But you better keep things together, because this is great for me. Now that Spock has you wrapped around his little finger you’re way more likely to agree with me.”

McCoy blinked as Jim slithered off the desk and practically jogged towards the door. “Excuse me?” He leapt up to stalk after Jim. “Maybe I didn’t hear you correctly there, Jim-boy, but did you just imply Spock has some kind of control over me?”

Jim twirled around, walking backwards on his way to Sulu’s biobed. “I didn’t imply it, Bones. I stated it!” Jim was twinkling at him again, the bastard.

“Y— _What_?” He spluttered. “I argue with him as much as I ever did!”

“Oh really?” Jim’s eyebrows danced. “Because I seem to recall, mere moments ago, you caving under the _slightest_ of fond looks from your new beau.”

“It’s true,” Sulu piped up unhelpfully. “I was there. I saw the whole thing. I’m already filing a report on it.”

Feeling cornered, McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the two of them. He was a moment away from hissing. “First, he’s not my ‘beau.’ Second, I have no idea what either of you are going on about. Third, even if I _did_ , it wouldn’t be true _anyway_.”

Sulu and Jim exchanged a knowing look that only enraged him further. He opened his mouth to dig his grave a little deeper, but at that moment a loud, “Daddy!” and a rushing blur interrupted him.

McCoy wheeled back as Demora knocked past him with a squeal of excitement, her dress picking up around her ankles in her haste. Ben was following behind with a huge smile lightening him and four bags of breakfast items weighing him down. One bag appeared to be entirely filled with strawberries.

Demora launched herself into Sulu’s lap, and several things happened at once.

Demora’s arms encircled Sulu’s neck. He buried his face in her hair. The scanner spiked. Sulu went stiff. He tipped to one side and fell right out of the biobed, taking Demora with him. He landed with a dull thud.

“Hikaru!”

Demora was crying. McCoy leapt forward, his tricorder dancing into his hand, his other arm coming down to feel for Sulu’s pulse. It was there, thready and wild in his neck. He looked up at Jim, who had fallen to his knees.

“Help me get him up!”

Together, they lifted Sulu back onto the biobed. He groaned as he went, so he was still conscious. That was good. The scanner whined as he settled.

“There’s heart flutter,” McCoy said aloud. He twisted around to grab a hypospray.

“Bones, can you help him?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he sniped. He loaded the hypospray with cordrazine and pressed it against Sulu’s neck. It hissed and the scanner stopped its panicked beeping. But the readings were still very worrisome. Sulu’s eyes were rolling as the cordrazine took effect. “...He should be alright now,” he hedged.

Ben was collapsed on the ground, surrounded by spilled strawberries that were crushed in bright red smears. He held tightly to Demora, who wailed against his chest.

“I’m sorry!” she screeched. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh,” Ben said, trying to comfort her through his own apparent panic. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh my God,” McCoy breathed.

He took a step back and Jim was there, steadying him with a hand at the small of his back. He suddenly realized that maybe it _was_ Demora’s fault. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind; all of Sulu’s spikes, and their precipitating events. Tying Demora’s shoes. Getting scanned by her. Spending the day with her. Playing with her. And now, hugging her fiercely. Every time he had spiked he had been in direct, physical contact with Demora.

Sulu’s hand fell limply off the bed, his fingers opening and closing searchingly. “Ben…?” he rasped. “Demora?”

“We’re here,” Ben called. “We’re right here, Hikaru.”

“You’re going to be okay.” McCoy lifted his hand and tucked it back onto the bed before he could touch anyone. “But I need to get you into isolation.”

Demora hiccuped, devastated.

____

Sulu looked unnaturally pale and ashen behind the plastic walls of the isolation ward. Abel and Tian milled in and out, collecting samples as they went. Ben stared in at them, and McCoy tried to stop looking over. He needed to keep a calm, level head.

“You’re being very brave,” he said to Demora. He hoped her bravery would rub off on him.

She gave him a withering look and he realized, too late, how condescending that would have sounded to a child. Her face was still a red-streaked mess, flaking where her tears had dried. “I’m an expert at being doctored.”

McCoy had to give her that. He’d never had a child patient behave better. He gently removed the blood sample and rubbed at the skin. “You’re in and out of here a lot, huh?”

She shrugged. “I gotta so I keep growing up instead of stopping. I wish sometimes I could just take extra vitamins like normal kids, but I guess it’s okay. Anyway, that’s how I know you.”

“Hmm?”

“Because my Daddy’s blood comes in a big aluminum box and it’s always stamped ‘express’ on the side and says ‘packed by CMO Leonard H. McCoy.’ That’s you,” she added.

“That is me,” he said unnecessarily. There was something about talking to kids that made him feel the urge to confirm his own reality. “I’m the one who collects the DNA samples from Lieu—your Dad.” It felt odd to be talking to Demora about this. It had always felt so impersonal on the _Enterprise_ , even when Sulu was waxing poetic about Demora and shoving pictures at anyone who would look. It was easy to forget that those sample went somewhere that really existed; that they helped a real little girl to live.

“He always sends me letters in the box. He comms me, too, but sends real paper letters in the box. Or do you pack those, too?” She studied him closely as he shook his head. “I figured not, ‘cause they’re usually in calligraphy and are really hard to read.”

“Sulu does calligraphy?”

“My Daddy’s really good a million things. He’s basically good at everything, like me, but he gets bored really easily, not like me. I’m like Chichi. I like to do all the same stuff for a really long time, like almost a whole year.”

McCoy smiled weakly. It was amazing to think of a time when a year had been _really long_. He finished his sample collecting and began to pack up, but she stopped him with one small hand on his arm.

“Is he going to have to go back?”

“Back where?”

“Back on _Enterprise_. Or new _Enterprise_. Is he going to have to go back right away instead of in five months? Since I’m not allowed to touch him? Maybe he wants to be far away instead of behind plastic for so long.”

McCoy bit his lip, uncertain how to answer. “We still aren’t sure if your touch is actually what hurt him,” he said eventually. “We’re hoping not. If these tests come back negative, you can hug him again just like you wanted to earlier, okay? Things will be fine.”

She looked at him seriously. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Demora slid off the biobed before he could formulate a response. She walked over to where Ben was still frowning through the plastic at Sulu, who had turned his head away and was feigning sleep. McCoy knew he was feigning because he could read the scanner above his head. His brainwaves were not in REM. He wondered if Demora knew enough to read the scanner as well. She reached up her hand and held onto Ben tightly, and he squeezed back.

McCoy went down to the lab himself just to get away for awhile and clear his head. He felt like he had on his first shuttle flight. His knees were weak and his hands were shaky, itching to curl around a bottle. His head was swimming and he wished he could lock himself away, hide from the danger. It was quiet in the lab, and a little chilly, but he didn’t adjust the temperature. He twisted the little sample vials in his hand and considered his options.

The theory that held the most weight was still the one Uhura had given him, but he had no real way to test for it. The increase in Sulu’s non-replicating DNA strands could be observed, but where were the _replicating_ strands going? Into Demora, presumably, perhaps through skin-to-skin contact.

He ran the blood samples through the centrifuge and programmed a battery of tests into the computer. He planned to compare Demora’s current DNA count to the count she’d had at her last physical, to see if there had been a change. He also took the skin samples from her hands, and the spinal fluid samples collected from Sulu, and ran those as well.

The computer helpfully informed him it would take 1.2 hours to complete the tests.

He leaned against the lab table and hugged himself, thinking. He didn’t know what to say to Ben and Demora to make this all okay, although he felt he had to say something. Worse, he didn’t know what to say to Sulu. He thought of Demora with her serious face pressed against plastic, separated forever by only a scant few centimeters. It made him ache. Would that be the rest of their existence together? Would Sulu never be able to hug his daughter again?

McCoy thought about Joanna often, but usually his thoughts were vague and half-formed. More of an idea than a memory, since he didn’t have many actual memories of her. But he often thought about about the memories they could have made together. When he’d last seen her she had been only a baby. She hadn’t even lost her baby-blue eyes yet. She would be nine years old now, just a year older than Demora. He wondered what it would have felt like to have a daughter who loved him the way Demora loved Sulu.

A pit opened in his stomach, and he clenched at the feeling, suppressing it quickly. He wished viciously, furiously, that he could have been a father to her the way Sulu was to Demora. He hated the circumstances, and then he hated Jocelyn. Even just the occasional picture, or comm, or letter would have been better than the endless nothing that she had imposed. Then he hated himself. Standing on this side of her imposition, nine years later, he knew that she was doing the right thing for their daughter. He didn’t want Joanna around that McCoy, either. He had been a drunk, an angry drunk, and a...murderer. Knowing that she was right only intensified his own self loathing.

He was feeling sick when the lab door swished open. He quickly tried to school his features as Dr. Dreil walked in. They took one quick look around and saw the way McCoy was standing hunched by the whirring computer.

Dreil frowned. “You look like a man who could use a consult.”

___

They got lunch in the cafeteria of the medical center, in deference to the fact that McCoy wanted to stay close to Sulu at least until the tests were complete. The food was absolutely terrible, and sort of liquidy, and McCoy apologized profusely for making them eat there.

“Don’t concern yourself.” Dreil performed an oddly alien shrug that McCoy interpreted as them waving away the apology. “I eat at least two-thirds of my meals here, anyway. What’s one more in the grand scheme of things? We can always get tea next time.”

“It amazes me than in the era of replicators, food can still be this…” He raised his fork and something yellow and grey-flecked and runny slopped off. “Terrible,” he finished, because a strong enough word did not exist in Standard.

“Only hospitals truly understand the fine art of creating infragrant food. Sorry, ‘inedible’ as humans would say. I believe that is the one constant of the universe. Every planet I’ve visited, every station I’ve served on, every species I’ve encountered--they all have the same comment about hospital food.”

McCoy unhappily shoveled food into his mouth. He wished that they had just grabbed lunch in his office, where his replicator was. But of course then he would have had to face Sulu and his family, and he still didn’t have anything to tell them. He watched Dreil lift a bite of food to their nose and sniff it with an air of disappointment. They still ate it. McCoy noticed they didn’t smell their second bite. They seemed to hold their breath through it.

“Now, tell me of your problems.”

McCoy sighed. Twirled his fork. “You saw the file?”

“I saw Demora’s, and the tests you’re running. As soon as you pulled her file I was automatically alerted.”

“She’s a good kid,” McCoy said unnecessarily.

He laid it all out for Dreil, starting with Sulu’s first collapse, detailing Krall’s technology more completely than he perhaps should have, and ending with the theory about DNA transfer.

“From what we can tell the more energy the person absorbs, the more they wind up looking like the host they’re leeching off of. Which seems to indicate that it radically remaps their DNA.”

Dreil nodded thoughtfully. “And if that’s the case, Demora should have more off his genetic material than usual. That is, more than half. But why is she the only one affecting him?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about. Based on what little information we have anyone who is a species-match should be able to draw energy easily enough. But Ben and I have both touched Sulu plenty, with no ill effects.”

“It may be because she is his daughter.”

“You mean because she’s the closest match? She does receive a new infusion from him every three months. She got her last six weeks ago?”

They smiled. “Three, actually. The shipment was delayed going through the Ke’debour Belt. When we got it it looked like someone had hid behind it to avoid phaser fire.”

McCoy shook his head, amused and unsurprised. “Maybe if they weren’t so close a match this whole thing would already have blown over and he never would have even noticed. For all we know his body has been trying to heal itself, and it’s pure dumb bad luck that we keep reopening the wound.”

Dreil looked amused as well. “Things are normally luckier for you on the _Enterprise_?”

“Not exactly. Most of the time I’m up against something that’s medically impossible, but there it is happening anyway. I’ve seen some damned impossible things, so really this is just typical.” He chuckled at the mound on his plate. “Never thought I’d be a frontier doctor. Figured that sort of thing went out of style in the 1800s.” He glanced up. “Sorry, that’s an Earth history referenced.

Dreil sort-of-shrugged again. “Yet, you joined Starfleet.”

“Not exactly by my own choice.” He frowned, frustrated by the memories. “But when I joined I figured I’d be doing the million-and-one things that aren’t frontier medicine. Your job, for example. You’re out here at the edge, sure, but you’re also in a place people call home. You don’t just blast from place to place, from one disaster to the next. You get to work with families. You get to treat people for colds and skinned knees, the kinds of injuries that kids get just being kids. It isn’t all phaser blasts and impossible space-death and violence. You get to be there when new life comes into the universe, not just when it’s taken away.”

Silence fell abruptly. He tried to get a grip on his irrational jealousy of Dreil. It wasn’t fitting. He stared at his food, appetite completely gone now. After a moment Dreil cleared their throat and folded their hands on the table. It was such a human gesture that McCoy wondered if they had practiced it.

“Dr. McCoy, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Dreil said kindly. “If I may ask, as your colleague, have you taken the time to peruse my list of on-station counselors and chose one for yourself?”

McCoy jerked, surprised. Maybe he should have expected such a question after his little soliloquy. He’d spent so much time hounding his crew to get them to take care of themselves he’d gotten distracted. Logically—and he winced at the word—he should seek counseling. He had been through some pretty terrible experiences in their three years in space, not to mention all the nonsense that had come before he’d chosen to make _Enterprise_ his home.

His home, which was now a pile of twisted metal on the surface of an alien world.

“I didn’t even think about it,” he said thickly.

“Counselor Edroti is well versed in deep-space assignments, and has training as a medical doctor which you may find relatable. She is a Betazoid, if empathic counseling disturbs you.”

Maybe in another universe there was a McCoy disturbed by empathic counseling, but McCoy had enough good memories of Spock not to worry too much about it. He worried far more about spilling his guts the old fashioned way. “I’ll look into it. Thanks,” he said tersely.

Dreil seemed to take him at his word. They raised another bite of food only to wrinkle their nose in disgust and lower it again. “Have you also done a bone marrow biopsy on Lieutenant Sulu?”

This kind of conversation came easier. The two of them chatted amicably a while over their cooling lunches. They bandied back and forth theories about Sulu’s illness. Between the two of them they had a fair bit of medical knowledge, and McCoy realized with a pang of shame that he should have called Dreil for a consult much sooner. He had been trying to work in isolation when he should have known better.

They finished not having eaten very much. McCoy cleared his tray and his throat. “You mentioned you were interested in being a spaceship doctor. What about it interests you?”

“Oh, everything, I suppose. I’ve always enjoyed traveling and seeing new places, but sitting here unable to move has definitely heightened that desire. I look up at all the stars that I can’t reach and feel like I’d better get there, and quickly.”

McCoy often wondered if that fascination with space came naturally to some people, or if it could be learned. “You know you can’t be a family practitioner on a spaceship. No families.”

Dreil laughed. “At the moment, perhaps, but I have it on good authority that Starfleet will be rolling out family ships soon enough. Perhaps even with their next models. I’ve seen the designs for classrooms, recreation areas, and larger quarters. Family ships are perhaps a year away.”

McCoy frowned. The idea of taking a ship full of kids and civilians into deep space was a little terrifying. He wasn’t sure if he should pity the poor doctor who wound up assigned to that ship, or if he should envy them. They would probably get all the easy missions. “Well, all the same, as soon as this mess is over and done with we can really get our tea and I’ll tell you about the time the transporter switched the minds of our Engineer and Captain Kirk, and Mr. Spock and an alien cat. That one was a doozy.”

Their eyes lit up, and McCoy thought that maybe they would do alright in space. “I look forward to it, Doctor.”


	10. Chapter 10

The test results were inconclusive.

That has always been the hardest result for him to contend with. A solid positive or negative result was much more manageable. Despite their theories, Demora did not show increased levels of DNA replacement, but that didn’t change the fact that if you put some of Sulu’s spinal fluid in a petri dish along with Demora’s skin cells, the fluid shriveled up and died. That also didn’t change the fact that Sulu was still feigning sleep on the biobed, which both infuriated McCoy and made him feel relieved. As long as Sulu was “asleep” McCoy could forgo explaining the situation.

In a fit of pique, McCoy had asked Dreil to run a full physical on Demora and skulked back to his office. He hid behind the desk and glared at the report on Krall’s technology. It seemed to mock him. With a groan of frustration he spun the computer around and commed Scotty.

The screen lit up with the Starfleet logo and told him it was redirecting his call. McCoy arched an eyebrow at that, wondering where it was redirecting _to_. If Scotty wasn’t in his quarters he must have set up an auto-forwarding device.

Thirty seconds later, Scotty popped into frame looking ruddy and red. His hair was a bit mussed and he sprawled against an uncomfortable-looking shuttle chair with the air of someone who was attempting to pretend he wasn’t drunk. “Why, hello there Doctor!” he greeted, too loud.

“Mr. Scott.” McCoy winced and turned down the volume. “I have a few questions for you, if you’ve got a minute?”

“Aye, certainly! Anything for you, my friend. Better ask quickly if you can. We’re about to go out of communications range.”

“Out of range?”

“Aye! Oh, oh, here, say hello to everybody!” Scotty leaned forward and picked up the computer—or maybe it was a PADD—and twisted the camera around so that McCoy saw the inside of the small shuttle. The table in the wall at the far end had been pulled out and was now stacked high with bits of seemingly random technology and bottles of alcohol. Jaylah and Keenser were both there. “Say hello to the good doctor!”

Keenser waved, and Jaylah bared her teeth at him. He took that as a smile.

“We’re just on the way to Deep Space Station K7 to get Jaylah on a ship to Earth,” Scotty explained once the camera was steady again. Well, it was a little lopsided, but McCoy could forgive his drunken friend. “She’s going to be in Starfleet, you know.” He looked unreasonably proud.

“And you decided it was a good chance to get plastered? Scotty, who’s flying the shuttle?”

“Plastered! Plastered! Why, we were just engaging in a friendly game of Fix-It. And anyway I’m perfectly capable of flying this shuttle.”

Jaylah’s voice filtered in. “You are not, Montgomery Scotty.”

“Aye.” Scotty looked abashed. “Well, maybe the Lassie is the one flying, but if anyone asks it’s me. She’s not certified yet. But we certainly aren’t drunk! Just trying to figure out what sort of alcohol affects Jaylah, and I couldn’t have the poor thing drink alone now could I?”

“What have you discovered?”

“Nothing,” Scotty said with a deep sigh. “But I’m holding out hope for that Klingon Everclear. That stuff could strip the particle dust off of an anti-matter exhaust fan. In fact, I have used it for that exact purpose before.”

McCoy didn’t ask how he had gotten his hands on an illegal substance. He cut to the chase. “Scotty, I’ve been looking at the report you left me on Krall’s—”

“Don’t say it!” Scotty slammed his hands on the armrests of the chair and looked around the shuttle like a startled bird. “They might be listening! I signed a million blasted forms all ordering me not to talk about it over any airwaves.”

McCoy grunted. “You’re going to have to break a little protocol, then! I don’t understand a damn word of your schematics, and Sulu is still sick.”

“I thought he was getting better?”

“Well, he got worse again! I had to put him in isolation, Scotty. He can’t even hold his kid.”

Scotty looked abashed. “Doctor, I truly can’t explain it to you, and not just because I’d lose my commission if I did.” McCoy winced. He didn’t mean to push it _that_ far. “The thing was damned alien. Now, I could maybe describe to you how one part fit into the next. I could even rebuild it for you! Er, wait.” He glanced around nervously again. “Or not. If anyone asks, I can’t rebuild it. But knowing the mechanics of a thing doesn’t explain why it does what it does. Based on what we know of physics, it shouldn’t work the way it does at all.”

“You mean…?”

“There’s no way it should be able to prolong life, and certainly not be stealing it from others.” He frowned and reached forward to straighten the camera so McCoy was looking at him level again. “But I’m no doctor. There may be something about it I don’t understand.”

“There’s certainly plenty _I_ don’t understand.”

Scotty contemplated him. As he did so, the screen fuzzed out and then kicked back in. “We’re moving out of range,” Scotty said sadly.

“Got any bright ideas before you go?”

Scotty leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers together. “No, no ideas,” he said slowly. Then his eyes lit up and he acquired a devilish grin. “But I’ve got one thing you definitely should _not_ do. Whatever you do, Doctor, do _not_ show those schematics to Mr. Spock. And definitely do _not_ ask for his opinion. They’re supposed to be completely hush-hush, for your eyes only. You definitely do _not_ want to show them to someone who might understand them, like Mr. Spock. Spock might understand the schematics, so showing them to him would be a bad idea. You get me?”

McCoy shook his head and tried not to smile. “Don’t worry, Mr. Scott. I wouldn’t even think of it.”

Scotty winked at him. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” he said cheerily.

“A true shame,” he returned, deadpan. “I’ll let you go, Mr. Scott. And, oh. If the three of you happen to break into any potato-based alcohols, make sure Ensign Keenser drives.”

Scotty looked dreamy. “A milk diet of vodka? I’d never considered it, but…” He grinned. “Thank you, Doctor!”

McCoy closed the channel just as his office door chimed at him.

“Come in.”

Dreil entered, and McCoy realized with a start that he had been expecting Spock. That, in fact, he was disappointed that it was _not_ Spock. He stood up and gestured at his guest chair. “Dr. Dreil. Please, sit down.”

Dreil sat with a small sigh and rubbed at the crescent-shaped ridge over their right eye. “I’m afraid I haven’t solved your problem.”

McCoy slowly sank back into his chair. “They physical didn’t turn anything up?”

“Nothing conclusive. Demora is definitely healthier than she was at her last physical. Now, normally I might attribute this to standard variation as a child grows, but this is truly extraordinary. Her body is running at peak efficiency, and she registers immunities to over two dozen illnesses that she’s never even been exposed to.”

“Such as?”

“Rigellian Fever, Klingon Kyamo Pox, 159-B2 Influenza, something I’ve never even _seen_ before but which seems to be carried on the water molecule—”

“Polywater intoxication. We had an outbreak about four weeks before we came into this system.” McCoy shook his head. “I treated the crew for it, but it shouldn’t provide an immunity. Here, let me see your list.” Dreil handed it over and McCoy scanned through it quickly. “All of these are either diseases we encountered, or conceivably could have encountered, within the last three months.”

“Demora gets some immunities from her Fathers, but not anything this advanced.”

“And Rigellian Fever can’t be immunized against. You have to treat it as it comes.”

“As horrible as this is,” Dreil said after a beat of silence. “Lieutenant Sulu’s illness may be advancing medicine by fifty years. To say nothing about the advances in duo-male in vitro fertilization that could come from this.”

“I’ll leave the paper writing to you. If we don’t figure this out, all the advances in the universe won’t change the fact that a Father can’t be near his daughter without it killing him.” He sighed and set down the PADD, rubbing at his face. “Thank you for conducting the physical.”

“It’s my pleasure. Demora has always been a wonderful patient.” They hesitated. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“I’m sure you need to get back to running the medical center,” McCoy demurred. He hesitated a moment, mentally kicking himself for his own weakness, and then said, “If you have a spare moment...Ben obviously knows you better than he knows me. I’m not quite sure what to say—what to do for him.”

“I can speak with him right now,” Dreil said with a kind smile.

“I’ll follow you out. Sulu needs an update.” He mentally steeled himself for that conversation.

Sulu was, at least, not pretending to be asleep any longer. Instead he was glaring up at the ceiling and ignoring Ben and Demora, who gazed through the wall at him with clear and growing frustration. They were so close, and yet so very far away. McCoy nodded tensely at them and slipped through the isolation door. He felt the tingling buzz as he was disinfected.

“How are we feeling today, Lieutenant?”

Sulu gave him a withering look that was an uncomfortable mirror of the look Demora had given him earlier. That explained where she’d gotten it from, at any rate. He didn’t answer.

McCoy began scanning him just for something to do with his hands. He explained the situation to the best of his ability, attempting to hide the shame he felt as he had to explain, yet again, that he was incompetent at his one job. Sulu seemed to be barely paying attention to his words. The normally bright pilot seemed like a husk of his former self.

“...So it’s not much,” McCoy concluded after a moment. “But we’ve got a few more tests we can run and see if we can pinpoint the issue. I’m still hopeful that we can get this thing licked sooner than you think.”

“Doc,” Sulu cut in sharply. “Could you...stop?”

“...Lieutenant?”

“Just quit trying to get my hopes up,” he said acidly. Sulu turned to look at the far wall, his face a blank mask. “Just admit you don’t know what’s happening and stop making it worse.”

McCoy took a deep, even breath. “Alright, Lieutenant,” he said eventually, his voice oddly flat and hollow even to his own ears. He shut his tricorder with a snap. “I notice you haven’t let Ben in here yet.”

Sulu looked at him sharply.

“We know your husband has nothing to do with your illness,” McCoy went on. His voice morphed automatically, turning sickly-sweet, dripping with the kind of passive-aggressive kindness that came so naturally to him. “Now, maybe he’s keeping himself out, I don’t know. But what I _do_ know is that you certainly haven’t tried very hard to let him in. You want me to stop getting your hopes up? Fine. Here it is: we don’t know what’s causing this. You may be sick like this for the rest of your life, which may not be very long. You have to get used to the fact that you might never get to hug your daughter again. You have to get used to seeing her through plastic walls. But guess what? That doesn’t mean you can’t still be there for her. That doesn’t mean you can’t still be there for Ben, and let him be there for you. Maybe you think it’s easier to just let yourself wallow all alone, but let me tell you one thing, kid, it _isn’t_.”

“You have no idea—”

“Shut up and listen to me.” He leaned in and Sulu held his ground, teeth slightly bared in distaste. McCoy spoke very precisely. “Right now, your family is killing you. That’s a fact. But you need to wake up and realize that family is one of the only things in this Universe worth dying _for_.”

McCoy took a step back, feeling light-headed. He wished for a moment that he could have simply dismissed Sulu, but instead he turned on one wobbly heel and walked purposefully out of the isolation ward. He nearly came up short when he saw Demora peering through the plastic at him, her black eyes round with concern. How much had she heard? Well, whatever she had heard, it was too late to take it back now. He kept walking, giving her a grim smile which she returned in kind, and then barricaded himself in his office.

Then, feeling like he might throw up, he commed Spock.

___

“Here, look at this.”

Spock caught the datadisc McCoy hurled at him easily. He examined it as the office door snicked shut behind him. “What is this?”

“It’s a datadisc, Spock,” McCoy said sarcastically. “You plug it into a computer and the lights turn on and information comes out. It’s got Scotty’s schematics of the technology that did this to Sulu on it. I need you to look at it, figure it out, and then explain it to me. So, go. Get to it.” He waved Spock away.

Spock did not move. He held very still as a little frown line appeared between his brows. “You appear more agitated than is typical, even for you.”

“Wow, what a concept!” McCoy feigned surprise. “For the record, I am having a _marvelous_ day. I love being totally incapable of doing my job. Now, are you going to look at the data or not?”

Spock slipped the disk into his pocket and folded his hands behind his back. “Before I do so, I must enquire about your mental state. Do you require assistance?”

McCoy ground his teeth together. He really didn’t want to have to deal with Spock playing the good First Officer right then. “No, I do not need assistance.”

“Would you care to share what has caused your emotional difficulty?”

“There’s no difficulty! I’m fine, Spock. Happy now?”

“Happiness is a human emotion. As a Vulcan, I do not—”

“‘Do not experience happiness,’” McCoy finished for him mockingly. “Yeah, in a pig’s eye you’ve never been happy.”

“ _However_ ,” Spock continued forcefully. “Your statement regarding your mental state is not to be believed, and is therefore inadequate to inspire happiness regardless of the species of the person it is directed towards.”

McCoy was standing before he quite knew what was happening. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I am merely stating that your emotional outbursts, which continue to multiply, belie the fact that you are not, in fact, ‘fine.’”

“You are! Spock, of course I’m emotional! That’s what healthy people _do_ in response to stressful situations, and you’d damn well better recognize that. I’m not planning on changing my emotions just to suit your whims, and you _certainly_ don’t get to call me a liar just because I have feelings.”

“Why should I not? You are fully capable of lying to yourself.”

That brought McCoy up short. “You—” He choked on his own words. “How dare—what are you—?”

“You have lied to yourself about the depth of your feelings for me.” Spock took a step forward. And another. “You have lied about the pain you would feel if I were to rekindle a relationship with Lieutenant Uhura.” Two more steps as he rounded the desk and McCoy wheeled back. “You have lied about how the Captain’s reaction to our relationship affects you.” He was looming over McCoy now, dark and foreboding. “And you have lied about the very nature of our relationship itself.” He grabbed both of McCoy’s hands and held them to his chest, refusing to break eye contact.

McCoy’s back hit the wall and he tried futilely to yank his hands away, but Spock’s grip was too strong. “Stop trying to read my mind!”

“I am not. Explain your actions.”

“You illogical, _emotional_ —” He lost the thread of that insult. Spock’s gaze was steady, unyielding, liquid, and McCoy was adrift in it. He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d just wanted a fight, just a little one, just to take the edge off of his anger, but then he’d gone and blown it out of proportion. He was too honestly angry to keep himself in check; too fried to stop himself from actually hurting Spock. And now Spock was just _looking_ at him like he didn’t need telepathy to read his mind. “Just get away from me. You have no idea what it’s like,” McCoy growled, realizing that maybe he _was_ lying to himself.

Spock raised one infuriating eyebrow. “What have I done to upset you?”

McCoy pulled away again and this time Spock let him go. But he stayed standing right in front of him, just a few centimeters away, looking at him with tense curiosity. McCoy flattened his hands against the wall behind him, grounding himself. He didn’t know how to answer because really Spock hadn’t done anything, but when he opened his mouth he said, “You left me to deal with Jim by myself.”

“Ah, I see. You were hurt by my departure and are now attempting to chase me away yourself in order to increase your own suffering.” McCoy winced as the words hit a little too close to home. “Leonard, I have no intention of leaving you, despite your imaginings to the contrary. As I stated, I had a prior engagement to attend to. I attempted to share my concerns with you as covertly as possible before leaving.”

“Covertly? A bull in a China shop is more covert! You kissed me in a crowded room and then ran off to do—to do whatever it is you do.”

“The addition of two people does not make the room ‘crowded,’ and my attention was required at the office of Counselor T’lel.”

McCoy practically tripped over the words. “You’re actually seeing a counselor?”

“Of course.”

“But I...I didn’t expect you to actually do it. It’s been seven years and as far as I know you haven’t spoken to anyone.”

Spock gazed steadily at him. “That is correct.”

“Why now?”

“It was your suggestion,” Spock said, as if that were answer enough. “Although I frequently disparage your chosen profession, Doctor, I must also acknowledge the logic in seeking assistance from a professional in these matters.”

“You’ve, uh, enjoyed it then? You get something out of it?”

“I do not derive enjoyment from performing my duty to myself. However, I do ‘get something’ out of my appointments.” The air quotes were totally verbal, yet practically tangible. “If I did not find them beneficial I would discontinue them.” Spock’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach forward, but instead he folded his arms behind his back. “I am a logical being. I do not commit myself to any act which is without reward, nor any person.”

“Jesus, Spock. Look it’s, it’s just that I don’t think you thought it through very well. Kissing me like that in front of Jim is not a great way to stay low key! And Sulu,” he added belatedly. “If you think the rumor mill will slow down just because we aren’t on the ship, you’re mistaken. The whole crew probably knows what we’re up to by now.”

Spock’s gaze was totally flat. “Should they not?”

McCoy’s heart clenched. The air seemed to go out of him all and once as he was pierced by Spock’s empty, emotionless eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Leonard, I do not see the logic in hiding my affection for you from anyone, including our crew. Additionally, I should note that you completed the _osh’esta_.” Spock seemed to realize the pettiness of his own words, for he hastened to add, “However, if my actions and presence shames you, or harms you in some way—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” McCoy wanted to comfort Spock—pull the stiff Vulcan into a tight, bone-crushing hug—but he found he couldn’t move. “That’s not what this is about. I’m not ashamed of you.”

“If that is the case then I do not understand your concern.”

McCoy gulped and tried to think. He wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself, let alone Spock, yet he felt he had to try. “I, it’s just… if they know then...there are looks. And questions. And people say they’re happy for you, and maybe they are but it can’t—it can’t last, can it Spock? Christ, it’s only been a matter of _days_ and you’re so damned sure of yourself, but when you realize that… realize that I…” He stopped, swallowed. Shook his head.

“Leonard, I already know you. There is nothing to realize that would force me to leave.”

“I-I am trying to drive you away,” McCoy admitted, mostly to himself.

“I am aware.”

“...But I’m not doing a very good job.”

Spock’s face softened. “No.”

“Damnit, I’m a mess.” He took a deep breath and let it all out, feeling oddly calm for one brief moment. “I want to keep arguing with you.”

Spock looked incredulous, but then his features smoothed. “Regarding the topic of our public displays of affection?”

“No! Just, just in general.” He pushed off the wall and brushed past Spock to pace around the small, cramped office. He could feel Spock following him with his eyes. “I want to know that we can still fight about stupid stuff and not have it be...what ends our friendship.”

“Doctor.” He felt Spock’s hand on his arm, and he turned reluctantly to face him. “I would find it agreeable to detail the many ways your perception of reality differs from mine and is therefore incorrect.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Where would you even begin?”

Spock let his hand fall slowly down McCoy’s arm, following the movement with his eyes. “You have an odd preoccupation with the positioning of my inner organs, in particular my heart.”

“Well, it is in a bit of an illogical place.”

“Perhaps.” Spock’s inquisitive fingers stopped at his wrist, and he gently turned McCoy’s arm over, pressing two fingers to the pulse point through his shirt. “However, I find the placement of your own heart to be the most illogical of any I have encountered.”

“What do you—”

“You leave it here,” Spock went on, as if he hadn’t heard him, staring at McCoy’s wrist and feeling his pulse beating, beating. “Pinned to your sleeve for anyone to steal, or damage, or harm. You feel it is big enough to pump the life’s blood of all those in the Universe, and perhaps it is. Although you pretend to keep it locked in your chest, you always leave it in the open. It is a very dangerous place to leave your heart, Leonard.” Spock looked up at him then, serious eyes bright beneath his eyelashes. “You require others to protect it, and I am proud to commit myself and my life to that task.”

McCoy could hardly breathe. He was a mix of guilt and joy at Spock’s words, and in that moment he leaned towards guilt. His eyes were wet as he shook his head. “How could you think that I could be ashamed of you?”

Slowly, Spock’s hand fell, and McCoy missed the contact with more intensity than he had ever felt. Spock’s eyes seemed to unfocus, as if he were not really seeing anything at all anymore. “It is logical that I should assume you would also be acquainted with the feeling I most often experience.”

“Spock—” He had to pause to swallow the scratch in his voice. “Spock, what do you have to be ashamed of?”

“Nothing which is logical,” Spock said cryptically. His soft brown eyes searched McCoy for a prolonged moment, fond and warm, and McCoy wanted to curl up under that gaze forever. Then, disconcertingly, Spock smiled.

It was such a tiny smile, just the smallest of upturns to his lips, but it was still a smile. Not an almost-smile, or a not-quite-smile, but a _smile_. McCoy was deeply shaken, wondering if this smile was for his benefit or Spock’s.

“You’re not getting delirious again, are you?”

“As with happiness, I also do not experience delirium.”

That was in clear contradiction to current events, but McCoy didn’t disagree with him. He just shook his head and drawled, “I don’t know why I would have assumed otherwise.”

“Indeed, as a doctor you should be well-versed in the biological advantage of my emotional restraint.” His smile had flattened, but there was still a light in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m familiar with your many biological _limits,_ ” McCoy stressed, and this was good. This was familiar, although now his words were heavy with the weight of Spock’s declaration of devotion. “Like the fact that most of your organs are in backwards or upside-down and your blood could be used to mint pennies.”

If Spock felt the weighted undertones of those words, he didn’t comment. “That seems unlikely to occur, as Earth has not used physical currency for 87 standard years.”

“I guess if we ever went back to it we know where to go for copper.”

Spock’s eyebrow arched. “I do not believe there has ever been such a literal production of blood money as what you imply.”

“We’ll start a new trend, then.” McCoy leaned one hip against the side of his desk. He still felt itchy, and warm, and a little lost despite the apparent ease of their banter, and he knew enough about Spock to know he was likely just as uncomfortable. He didn’t think he could acknowledge Spock’s declaration yet, but there was still plenty more for them to work through. “Spock, what are we going to do about Jim?”

Spock released a small breath. It was almost a sigh. “I am uncertain how best to proceed. It appears that the Captain is experiencing jealousy as a result of our interactions together.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” McCoy asked rhetorically, and when Spock opened his mouth to actually answer McCoy cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No, I know. He told me he’s happy for, uh. For whatever.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at ‘whatever.’ “Perhaps he requires time to contemplate this change. He may erroneously assume that the beginning of a relationship between us means the end of our friendships with him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” McCoy scoffed.

“Indeed. Perhaps now you may begin to comprehend my preoccupation with informing you of the illogic of your own emotional reactions to events which cannot be altered.”

McCoy looked to the ceiling for guidance. “You just can’t resist a dig, can you?”

“If you are expecting this fact to change because of our relationship, you will be disappointed.” Spock stood very tense, and McCoy read between the lines: it was a promise, and a plea.

“No, Spock,” McCoy said softly. “I don’t think I could ever be disappointed in you.”

“Then circumstances between us are optimal,” Spock said. He seemed suddenly to be vibrating with energy, although of course he wasn’t doing anything different from what he normally did. It was just an impression that McCoy had of him.

“What are you so excited about?” he groused good-naturedly.

“Doctor, are you aware of my initial assumption regarding your purpose in calling me to your office today?”

“Uh, no?”

“I had assumed,” Spock said, and he was definitely vibrating now, and was also standing a lot closer. “That you intended to engage in the human custom of a ‘quickie.’”

McCoy choked, his blush already heading for his hairline as Spock closed in. “God help me. Spock, at _work_?”

Spock’s cool breath ghosted over his lips. “You are adverse to my proposal?”

McCoy laughed somewhat hysterically, astonished at how well Spock rode the emotional rollercoaster from bare-knuckled fighting to desperate kissing. “You thought I was...and then I picked a fight with you.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies are not required,” Spock said. His fingers danced over McCoy’s ribs, gently lifting and lowering his shirt a scant centimeter with each pass. “Unless you find them as stimulating as I find our arguments?”

McCoy released another awkward chuckle that was really more of a moan as Spock explored his body. Spock’s hands were incessant and distracting, and he wondered if that was on purpose. If Spock was distracting him from the last of his residual anger, or if Spock meant what he said literally and, really, they were both of them pretty messed up if such a biting, vitriolic argument could count as foreplay. “Spock, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but sex at work is not exactly something humans do on the regular.”

Spock appeared mildly disappointed. “Your historical courtship manuals would indicate otherwise.”

“Historical—what, you were reading romance novels?”

“I have studied many films.” Spock frowned as McCoy slipped into a peal of nervous giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” McCoy tried to get himself under control. “Jesus, just the thought of you, uh…” Spock’s hands settled on his waist. “Watching those…” Spock pressed against him, from knee to sternum. “Spock we really shouldn’t…” Spock insinuated a leg between McCoy’s. “Oh for—just kiss me.”

Spock obeyed like he had been waiting for the dam to burst. He rushed against McCoy with lips that were soft and smooth and demanding. McCoy was the first to raise his hand, and Spock made a curious sound and followed suit, rubbing calloused fingers over McCoy’s skin. They entwined against his desk, kissing hurriedly and frantically, and then relaxing into it as the frantic moment passed, and then they were not going very quick at all. They were languid and gentle and McCoy delighted in the taste of Spock, the press of their bodies together. He slid his hand under Spock’s shirt— _his_ shirt, and somehow knowing that fanned the flames of the fire burning in his belly. It thrilled him and he pulled Spock closer, curled his arm around Spock and flattened his palm against the space between the wings of his shoulder blades.

McCoy could feel an itch at the back of his head, distracting him, and it took him a moment to realize it was actually _Spock’s_ itch, translated through their fingers. Spock was listening intently to—something. What? The door, apparently, in case anyone tried to come in. The realization was like a bucket of ice water and McCoy pulled away and turned his head.

“We can’t,” he forced himself to say. “Not while...not here.” Not while Sulu was on the other side of the wall unable to touch his own loved ones.

Spock seemed to recognize what he was thinking—perhaps he read it, through their entangled fingers. He pulled away with reluctance and McCoy caught his hand, planting a chaste kiss at the knuckles of his first two fingers. When he looked up Spock’s eyes were dilated, his mouth slightly open. McCoy watched him press his lips tightly together.

“You can think about that ‘til later,” McCoy said innocently, almost lazily. He delighted in Spock’s raised eyebrow and calculating look.

Spock took a step back and straightened his clothing. McCoy caught himself staring and jerked his gaze away, fixing his own clothes with more concentration than was strictly necessary.

“I shall examine these files,” Spock said when he was pristine again. “I will contact you when I have a report.”

“Thank you. And, uh, maybe don’t tell Commodore Paris, or anyone really, that I gave them to you.”

Spock raised both eyebrows now. “You are committing a breach of security?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

Spock nodded once, curtly. “As this falls under the purview of my duty to see to the health and safety of the crew, I do not believe it is necessary to inform anyone. The performance of my typical duties does not often warrant a log entry.”

McCoy wondered at the mental gymnastics that Spock had to go through to make that make sense, but he didn’t comment. The only aspect of Spock that never seemed to be in contradiction what the fact that he was so contradictory. “Let me know what you find.”

Spock nodded and headed for the door. McCoy watched him go, fingers itching to reach out and reel Spock back in. But he knew if he touched Spock again he wouldn’t be able to let go. Instead, he contented himself with cataloguing Spock’s features. His calm brown eyes, stoic face, neat and pristine hair. Spock looked beautiful at that moment, although McCoy told himself that was a silly thing to think when Spock looked just as he always did, and anyway the lights in his office weren’t the most flattering. But maybe Spock always sort of looked like that.

Spock palmed open the door and then paused in the archway. He turned back to McCoy almost casually, but McCoy had to believe it was a calculated move. “I have one further request.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Please sleep for an appropriate number of hours tonight,” Spock said. “I require you to be alert for our breakfast with Nyota tomorrow.”

And with that, Spock departed before McCoy could say a word. He gaped at the closed door and then sat down heavily at his desk, nearly missing his chair on the first attempt and having to try again. He quickly pulled over his PADD and saw that he had new messages. It was Uhura, answering his request for coffee. She had added Spock to the comment thread, and the two of them had set up an entire breakfast date, which included McCoy, at 0700 hours tomorrow. They must have finalized the plans just before Spock came into his office.

McCoy cycled quickly through annoyance at the presumption that he would be free, fear at having to engage in conversation with the two of them, and then pleasure. They had included him. And anyway, that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He didn’t want to date Uhura, but he did need to be friendly with her to set Spock at ease.

He bit his lip, wondering if this really was a good thing or not. Spock’s accusation that he lied to himself was still fresh on his mind. What were his motivations for trying to get Uhura and Spock back together? Approached logically, it made sense that he would want his...Spock to be happy. And Uhura made him happy. Ergo, they should be together. But emotionally, he could be afraid that Spock would grow bored of him and leave him. Ergo, being the open and easy-going...friend was the best way to keep Spock interested.

Of course, there was the third option. It was equally likely that some part of him was trying to drive Spock away. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that he did that; that he tried to force people to leave before they could decide to do it themselves. It felt safer that way. He almost felt in control of his life. If he could convince Spock to leave him for Uhura early on, well then maybe the pain wouldn’t be so bad as when Spock inevitably left later.

He didn’t know which was the motivating factor. Perhaps they all were, in different ways. As he considered, his PADD lit up again with a private message from Spock. He found himself smiling automatically and he opened it, only to frown when he saw that the message was just a string of random numbers.

It was a twenty-digit code. He didn’t recognize it, but it felt familiar. There was no explanation for the code, but for some reason looking at the numbers reminded him of Jim.

McCoy blinked. Of course it reminded him of Jim; this was the code to Jim’s tracking device. He sat back in his chair, unexpectedly touched by the peace offering from Spock. He knew that logically it made sense for him to have this code as well, in case Spock was ever unable to use it. But the fact that it came now, at the tail-end of their fight and their haphazard attempt at making up, made it feel like it meant more. Spock was a logical being, but he also understood symbolic gestures. This was the Spock-equivalent of when McCoy had asked him to move some of his things into his quarters. In this world they didn't have much to share with each other, but they would share all they could.

He memorized the code and then went back into the medbay to attend to his duties. There was a lightness to his step that only got lighter when he saw that Ben was sitting on Sulu’s side of the isolation chamber, leaning against his husband as they both played cards with Demora across the plastic.

Sulu glanced at him as he walked out, offering only a shrug and a small smile. It was painful to look at their little family like that, but McCoy forced himself to look. He figured that in a Universe of danger and sorrow, sometimes you had to take happiness in whatever way it came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock has been sitting on the "you're lying to yourself" fight for a long time.
> 
> Klingon Kyamo Pox = Klingon 'Beautiful' Pox.


	11. Chapter 11

“Leonard.”

McCoy jerked awake at the sound of Spock’s voice. Confused, he tried to take stock of where he was and what he was doing there. He was hunched over his desk with his head pillowed in his arms, and he had a massive crick in his neck and a lovely dehydration headache to contend with.

“Ugh,” he said.

“Indeed,” Spock said. “You have managed to neglect my one request of you, and have not obtained an appropriate amount of sleep.”

McCoy glared at him, wondering what idiot had decided to invent mornings. “It’s your own fault for not coming to get me.”

Spock seemed amused. “The schematics you requested I review were quite fascinating. I did not realize how much time had passed until morning had already arrived.”

McCoy sat up straight at that. “Have you got them figured out?”

“Not as of yet.”

“Spock, maybe… maybe we should postpone this thing with Uhura. I really need you to work on those schematics, and I should be here. I’ve got my own work to do.”

Spock raised his brow. “It is clear that you have reached an impasse with your work, and I am capable of contemplating the schematics while simultaneously engaging with you and Nyota socially.” His features softened and he rested one hand on the desk to lean down. “Leonard, I appreciate your dedication to your work. It is one of many qualities I admire in you.”

McCoy turned his head away before Spock could kiss him. “Uh, don’t. I’ve got morning breath.”

Spock looked as though he wasn’t sure whether was McCoy was annoyingly illogical or adorably illogical. After a pause he raised his hand. “Is this an acceptable alternative?”

“It is.” With a begrudging smile, McCoy met their fingers together. He could feel Spock’s pleasant and simple happiness, his desire for intimacy, and beneath that a slow burning worry that made McCoy frown. “Why are you worried this morning?”

Spock’s eyebrows did a little dance as he pulled his hand away. “Curious. I was not aware that I was projecting to that level of emotional depth. In any case, I am not ‘worried,’ however we do not have much time before we must meet with Nyota.

McCoy stood, dragging his gaze over Spock as he did so. Yeah, the Vulcan definitely looked worried. And nervous, too. McCoy could tell by the way he stood so straight and proper, practically a military stance. It made sense. McCoy was just as freaked out, although he was internalizing it slightly differently. He didn’t really know what the protocol was for meeting the ex/current-girlfriend of the guy you were copulating with.

“What time is?”

“It is currently 0636 hours.”

“That’s cutting it close. I need to examine Sulu before I go, and there’s no way I’m meeting Uhura for breakfast in yesterday’s clothes.”

“I anticipated this eventuality when you were not present in your quarters. I have brought you a change of clothing.” Spock tipped his head towards the guest chair where he had set them down. “I expect they will be acceptable?”

Spock still looked a little nervous, so McCoy smiled at him. “I’m sure it’s fine, Spock, thanks. I’ll just change and be out in a minute.”

Spock didn’t move. He seemed intent to just stand there and watch McCoy get dressed with those damn, implacable eyes of his. McCoy gulped at his gaze, certain that he would have to awkwardly explain a human taboo to Spock, but then Spock shifted on his feet and one of his eyebrows twitched involuntarily.

“You—you lech!” McCoy realized that Spock knew exactly what he was doing. “I’m not letting you spy on me. Get out of here!”

“You are certain you do not require assistance?” Spock asked with faux-innocence, and then dodged McCoy’s playful punch. “If you desire, I could study your method of undressing and report any errors I find. I could have a report available in minutes. I would also be amenable to dressing you. I can be very efficient.”

“Out!” He was laughing as Spock twirled around and strolled out of his office with one last backwards glance that seemed to linger over McCoy in all the right places. McCoy shook his head as the doors closed, and was still chuckling as he picked up the clothes that Spock had picked out for him.

Spock had chosen a rather… interesting ensemble. There was a pair of dark-wash denim jeans, his grey leather jacket, a change of underwear, and a pale green t-shirt. McCoy didn’t recall ever seeing that shirt before, and he wondered where Spock had gotten it from since the rest of the clothes were his. He still put everything on and folded his old clothes into the drawer of his desk to be dealt with later. He felt a little silly pulling on a leather jacket at six-thirty in the morning, even a grey one, but he didn’t have much other choice. Anyway, it was buttery soft, and it felt nice against his skin. He dithered a while in the center of his office before finally taking out his necklace so it lay flat against the outside of his shirt. He touched the pendant, thinking.

When he exited his office, Spock was standing prim and proper next to Sulu, who was barely awake. They both looked at him, and Spock’s eyes lit up and Sulu looked just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as McCoy felt, which was not at all.

“Doc,” he greeted. His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a cup of gravel. “Did you sleep here last night?”

“I just had a few tests to run,” McCoy said non-committally. He pulled out his tricorder and ran it over Sulu, but nothing had changed since last night. “Well, you’re looking about the same, which is good. That helps confirm our theory.”

“It’s a pretty awful theory,” Sulu muttered.

McCoy chuckled mirthlessly. “Don’t I know it.”

Sulu turned to him, and despite how clearly tired he was he seemed in a better mood today. “...Thanks, Dr. McCoy. For making me take my medicine yesterday.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gave the glands in Sulu’s neck a quick prod, but the tenderness had mostly faded. “Ben and Demora are coming back?”

“They should be here in an hour or so. I wanted to make sure Demora got a good night’s sleep. She’s still growing, you know, and we aren’t sure yet if we’ll have to forgo genetic transfers until I’m better.”

“There are other methods that will help her grow. It doesn’t need to come from your DNA.”

Sulu sighed. “Yeah, that’s what Dr. Dreil told us. It’s still not the optimal choice.”

McCoy could see that Spock was starting to get antsy, so he said his goodbyes and left Sulu in the charge of his nurses. He and Spock left together, walking perhaps a bit more closely than was strictly necessary. But then, McCoy realized, they had always done that.

The restaurant was a quaint little place nestled on the outer edge of the _Yorktown’s_ second ring. It was at the apex of a long, curving courtyard, sitting squat and unassuming among a copse of trees. The tables were veneered and it smelled a bit like hay inside the building, which made McCoy think fondly of Earth all those light years away. He’d always liked throwing hay bales; it worked up the good sweat. The kind that made you feel accomplished and made you sleep at night.

They arrived a few minutes late and Uhura was already sitting at a small table smack-dab in the center of the room. A smile flitted across her features as they entered, and then her gaze dropped to McCoy’s shirt and her smile got twice as big and also quivered at the corner, like she was trying to suppress a laugh. For a second he thought she was looking at his necklace, but then he realized the significance of a _green_ shirt.

Well, if Spock wanted him to go everywhere loudly proclaiming that he belonged to him, McCoy was fine with that.

He was glad to be wearing something a little more provocative than his usual fare, because Uhura looked just as stunning as always in a pale yellow sundress. She rose and gave Spock a little peck on the cheek and then offered her hand to McCoy—probably in search of a handshake, but McCoy’s southern upbringing seized control the moment they made contact and he turned her hand over, kissing the back.

“You are looking marvelous this morning, Ms. Uhura.”

She smiled at him and he counted that as a win, especially because Spock was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

They sat, and somehow McCoy ended up sitting between them. Before he could wonder if they had planned it that way their server swung over. The server was a humanoid Xindi who looked fully capable of bench-pressing a shuttle, but instead she only took their drink order and sashayed off again.

He kept thinking about how Spock was just a few centimeters away. He could have reached out and held his hand—or held Uhura’s hand, for that matter, on his other side. But she couldn’t reach Spock. They could only look across the long table at each other. McCoy thought about that as Uhura explained that she liked to come here because they had real Earth-chicken eggs. None of the powdered or reconstituted stuff for them.

“I worked at the farm that supplies this restaurant,” she told them. “It was a lot of fun, even though it was so sunny and hot I could barely stand it.”

“How’d they manage that?” McCoy asked. “I thought the whole station was environmentally controlled?”

“The _Yorktown_ is capable of directing its light-altering panels at precise angles throughout the station. Areas which require more sunlight for farming or other plant growth receive it.”

“What he means is, if you’re going to be outside the city for too long you should bring sunscreen.”

McCoy chuckled. He kept expecting the conversation to turn awkward, but it was surprisingly pleasant. They continued to chat about their days and station goings-on until their server returned. He ordered a cheese and bacon omelette at Uhura’s suggestion, and Spock ordered one with spinach and mushrooms. Uhura got a stack of pancakes covered in real, thick, and sticky syrup, and McCoy couldn’t help but recall how Spock had thought of her. He wondered if Uhura knew that Spock saw her that way, if they have ever melded like that.

He shook off the melancholy that accompanied that thought. He wasn’t here to beat himself up; he was here to enjoy a meal with his friends. He reminded himself of this firmly as he tucked into his omelette. It really was divine, and he suppressed a groan as he ate.

Mid-way through their meal Spock set down his knife and fork. He delicately dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his napkin and stood up. “I will return in eight minutes,” he said.

And, okay. Now he knew Uhura and Spock were in cahoots, because there was no way they hadn’t planned this. It was just him and her alone at the table, and he wasn’t an idiot. He’d noticed that Spock hadn’t said where he was going—because he didn’t want to lie. He had no excuse. McCoy glared daggers at the empty chair as Uhura giggled again, almost nervous.

“Did you and Spock plan this?” she asked.

He whipped around to look at her, surprised. “No. I thought maybe you did.”

She laughed again and this time it was much lighter. “Sometimes I think we taught Spock about humans a little too well.” She cut into her pancake with deep concentration, staring at the shine of butter floating atop the syrup. “...Thank you. For suggesting we meet up.”

McCoy relaxed at her words. For all her fantastic confidence and apparent ease, it was clear she was just as uncertain as he was. She treaded just as lightly. “It was my pleasure.”

“Spock probably had the idea that we would talk. One-on-one.”

“Yeah… and as much as I hate to admit it, in this case he's got a good idea.”

She looked up with a smirk. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Thank you for that,” he said honestly. He quickly sobered. He wasn’t sure, exactly, how to get them talking, and Spock’s eight minutes were ticking by fast. He had so much that he wanted to say to Uhura, so much ground that he wanted to cover in such a short time. And simultaneously, he wanted to keep up this easy banter, the plausible deniability to pretend that nothing was odd between them. He could pretend that he wasn’t intimidated by her, and she could pretend he hadn’t stolen Spock from her.

He sighed. That wouldn’t do either of them any good, as enticing as it was to think about. “Uhura,” he began.

“You may call me Nyota, Doctor.”

“Only if you call me Leonard.” He returned her slight, uncertain smile. With a deep breath he stumbled on. “I want you to know that… I’m sorry. Your relationship with Spock was something I always wanted to succeed, as long as it made you both happy. I never intended to get between you and Spock, and I’m sorry that I’ve done that now.”

Her eyes widened. “Is that what you think happened? That you got between us?”

“Well.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m still not exactly sure, and Spock hasn’t told me all the sequence of events but… I guess I’m...the rebound.”

Her gaze was steely. “Don’t think of yourself that way,” she ordered, and he found himself internally agreeing to follow that order almost in spite of himself. “And you haven’t gotten between us at all. If anything, you helped us work through some things that might have forced us apart even further.”

“How do you figure that?”

Nyota took a deep breath and pushed her plate away to fold her arms on the table. She leaned in, maintaining an eye contact that was just this side of too intense to bear. “When Spock ended our relationship, it hurt. A lot. Almost too much. The fact that all our years together didn’t even warrant a discussion before he decided to leave really messed me up.”

“I know the feeling,” McCoy murmured, thinking of Jim.

She nodded. “And I know he was planning to discuss it with me later—he said as much at Kirk’s party. But that really just meant that he was going to list all the reasons it was logical that he go, logical to end things between us, logical for me to stop feeling what I was feeling. After Altamid he said you talked, and you made him realize some things about how he’d been interacting with me. But I suppose all that came a little too late.” She smiled sadly and shrugged. “As much as I love him, I can’t spend my whole life constantly worried that he’s going to dump me again. So after Altamid I told him it was over, that we couldn’t go back to what we had. I told him we had to be just colleagues.”

“Oh, that...explains a few things.”

She side-eyed him. “Spock did the logical thing, of course. I shouldn’t have been surprised; I’ve always known that he likes you.”

McCoy tried not to gape at the knowledge that Spock had always liked him. “You, uh, said you were going to just be colleagues, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“Obviously,” she said. “It was silly to think we could do that, torpedo our friendship like that. Things were pretty awkward and we were both pretending they weren’t, but then after you made him get dinner with me—and thank you for that, by the way—he was actually open with me for the first time in…” She huffed and shrugged her shoulders in fond exasperation. “I don’t even know how long. You brought something out in him, made it easier for him to talk about things instead of just acting and reacting.”

McCoy winced. “I think he probably learned that from me demonstrating what _not_ to do.”

“Regardless, we talked for a long time, and it brought up all our problems, some things I didn’t even know were problems. Things we probably never would have talked about, that we would have let fester between us for the rest of our lives. We didn’t work through them all or anything, but at least we talked.”

“So you…” He hesitated and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “You want to… continue to pursue a relationship with Spock?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about, first.”

“Spock and I—” McCoy coughed, searching for the right words. He felt he had to be honest now, with her and with himself. “We’re partners, or mates, or whatever the term is.”

Nyota looked at him archly. “Spock said you were boyfriends, but he had this look on his face sort of like…” She did a spot-on imitation of Spock, pursed-lipped and internally screaming with awkwardness.

It loosened McCoy’s tension. “Maybe it’s selfish,” he said quietly. “But I can’t bear to give that up.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish.” She reached out and grabbed his hand firmly. “He chose you. I mean, I’m the one hoping to get a little side action from your boyfriend.” She grinned at him as he chuckled. “Leonard, I don’t think that you have to worry about Spock and I going back to the way we were. That time has passed. And if you tell me to be nothing more than a friend to Spock for the rest of my life, then of course I will respect that. You don’t owe me anything in this. I love him, of course, but he’s also a bit of an idiot. An idiot who I only want to see happy, and you give him happiness.”

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she shushed him.

“No, you don’t have to answer right now. I know all of this is sudden, so you can take as long as you want to decide what the relationship between you and Spock will look like. Even if you never decide, that’s fine.” She squeezed his hand.

He shook his head and folded his other hand overtop of hers. “Nyota, that’s swell of you to say, but I’ve already thought a lot about this. You want him happy? Well, so do I, and I would have to be willfully oblivious not to notice how happy he is around you. You two can… explore whatever you need to, but please…” He hesitated, uncertain how to phrase this before finally deciding to just come out with it. “Please, don’t let him forget about me.”

“I won’t,” she said immediately. “But I don’t think you have to worry about that. He’s different, with you. More focused.” She smiled then, biting her lip mischievously. “I’m still going to give it some time. Both for you to think more, and because it won’t hurt me any to go looking for a little trouble.”

“Trouble?” He asked, raising a brow as she winked at him. “Why, Nyota, you wouldn’t happen to have your eye on someone, would you?”

“You don’t know her,” she promised.

McCoy chuckled, enormously pleased that she was happy, and that Spock would soon be happy as well, when they told him. He felt as though his heart was unfurling like a flower in the sun, like it was too big to contain in his chest. “There is one thing you should be aware of,” he said. “There’s this potential thing, with Jim. I’ve been trying to get Spock to talk to him but… what?” He frowned at the look on her face.

She wrinkled her nose in amusement. “You’re just noticing this now?”

“Okay, I take your point,” he groused, and when she started to shake with contained laughter his frown deepened. “I’m just trying to make sure everyone is informed, here!”

“I know!” She giggled and ducked her head. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re very sweet. I think you take a more active role in Spock’s love life than he does.”

“The damn Vulcan has a bulkhead for a brain. He wouldn’t do anything to help himself if I didn’t force it out of him. So of course I’m invested.”

“Not that that’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” He rolled his eyes.

Nyota was still holding his hand when Spock glided back over to them. He raised an eyebrow as they burst into euphoric, hysterical laughter at the sight of him.

“I see that I should not leave you two alone,” Spock said.

“Oh, Spock,” McCoy returned happily. “You know us silly humans.”

“You can’t take us anywhere!”

“We’re absolutely terrible in polite company.”

Their words dissolved into more giggles of relief as Spock’s eyebrows took to the sky.

—

The city square was bustling with activity, but McCoy still found his eyes drawn to the spot where, only a week ago, the _Franklin_ had sat, broken and crumbling in the water. It was gone now without a trace, no hint of what they had done or that the ship had ever even been there. Any trace of Krall’s insane plot had been wiped away.

It made him feel odd to realize that.

His shoulder brushed with Spock’s as they walked a pace behind Nyota, who was leading them along the shoreline. It really was a breath-taking view—literally, as McCoy attempted to quash the dizziness he felt when he looked up and saw the top of a building pointing straight at him. He concentrated on Spock at his side, grounding him.

He realized with no small amount of surprise that he was actually enjoying himself, despite the eerie feeling of space being just a bit too close for comfort. It was a nice day, and he felt only the residual remains of jealousy towards Nyota. He knew the feeling would soon pass entirely. They’d found some common ground to stand on, and he could no longer look at her as a romantic adversary. Rather she was on his side, Spock’s side.

He hummed in pleasure and glanced to Spock, who looked back at him instantly as if he had been waiting for an opportunity to look. Spock’s warm brown eyes stirred something in him, and he found that he was smiling foolishly at his partner.

His partner.

There was a term he’d never thought he’d let himself think freely. They’d been partners before, in other things. Partners on away missions. Partners in scientific discovery. Partners in getting Jim to take care of his damn fool self. But this felt different. The difference lay in the shape of Spock’s love for him, and his love for Spock. It seemed to be growing with each passing moment to accommodate more and more of him. When Spock looked at him with such deep affection in his eyes, McCoy felt like things would work out just fine.

He blushed at the thought and looked away. He felt guilty, suddenly, as his mind seemed to seek out the exact thing to ruin his enjoyment of the moment, and that thing was the memory of Sulu with his hand pressed against the plastic isolation wall. He sighed in defeat and his shoulders hunched. He figured he didn’t have any right to be having a good time when his crewmate was languishing.

Nyota had stopped on a little footbridge overlooking the water and was leaning against the railing. Spock had stopped as well, but only to frown intently at McCoy. For such an anti-emotion person, he always seemed deeply in tune with how McCoy was feeling.

“Leonard?” he whispered softly.

“...I think I should head back to the med center,” McCoy said. The guilt gnawed at him, and although he knew it wasn’t a logical feeling, he still felt it. It grew with each passing moment, and when he tried to tell himself he would be just as ineffective at healing Sulu as he had been every other time, the anxiety doubled. “You two can get on without me, right?”

“Perhaps we could,” Spock said, sounding like he was actually thinking the opposite. Nyota was watching them both closely with a small frown.

Spock paused, and then raised his hand. McCoy interpreted it as a goodbye and met Spock’s fingers with no small amount of relief at the lack of argument. Too late he realized it was a trap, and when their fingers brushed he saw Spock start with the shock of his bundled anxiety transferring over. Spock stepped closer and curled both hands around McCoy’s fist, holding him still. He could feel Spock’s rush of gentleness, his desire to help, and that did take the edge off his turmoil.

“Perhaps you could delay your departure a moment to afford us an opportunity to discuss Mr. Scott’s schematics.”

McCoy hesitated and glanced to Nyota, who was staring with open astonishment at their joined hands. He quickly removed himself from Spock’s grip and pressed his palm to his thigh. “Sure,” he said gruffly. “I suppose everyone here already knows about Krall’s technology anyway.”

“I’d hope they would destroy it,” Nyota said grimly.

“They did. Scotty and Keenser did, so I know it actually happened.” McCoy sighed and went to lean against the railing beside Nyota, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what have you got for me, Mr. Spock?”

Spock held his hands behind his back and stood very straight. “Based on my interpretation of the provided schematics, the technology utilizes a proto-scanning device which interprets nucleic acid production in the host’s body. It is then able to unthread choice DNA strands in the host, remapping them onto the user’s DNA. In this way the user can repair their own damaged DNA strands, reverse the affects of aging, and even gain immunities to most illnesses.”

McCoy pretty much understood that. “I already figured on that last part. Of course, that means it does nothing for tragic injury. Lose a limb and it won’t grow back. But Krall radically changed his appearance, which implies tissue growth and reconstruction.”

“Indeed.”

“How does it open the strands in the first place?”

“It is… difficult to say.” Spock paused. “I must hypothesize the use of nanobots, however there is no evidence of their production or existence within the suit schematics. No other known technology is small enough to enter the body and perform such delicate work.”

“So basically, we still don’t know how it works?” McCoy sighed.

“Given the information available, it should not work at all. Yet of course, it does.”

“Scotty said the same thing.”

“Could it be that he gets the nanobots from Abronath?” Nyota asked.

“How so?”

“Well, when he used the weapon it wasn’t just about the mechanics of it. It seemed more like a fancy way to carry around the actual problem. Abronath was filled with a dark, sticky liquid. It looked like a ferrofluid.”

“Liquid magnets?”

“The disease,” Spock said.

“Sure, but it’s not really a disease,” McCoy said, looking at Nyota. “It’s not, is it? A disease is a disorder that spreads. But Abronath consumes, you said that in your log.”

She was nodding now. “Consumes or scatters, yes. I think we saw the ‘scatter’ portion when he used on Ensign Syl and on himself. It just dismantled them down to their atoms. But the consume—”

“That might be it’s secondary use, the one that happens in the suit!” McCoy was excited now, he could feel the complete answer just a hair’s breath away and he grasped for it. “But it may have only had to dismantle down to the molecular level. You said it was a liquid?”

“Yes. He had a vat of it.”

Spock cut in. “Then it may not require nano-technology at all, or indeed any kind of known mechanical structure. It may instead utilize covalent bonds to transfer information. In the high pressure environment of neutron stars the covalent bonds between atoms switch from electrical to magnetic in character. It is conceivable that this technology utilizes the same principle in a controlled environment.”

“Sure, and it wouldn’t have to be very detailed. ‘Eat the thing’ and ‘destroy the thing’ could be programmed by someone who knew their way around the molecule. Hell, we’ve seen that before with diseases that travel on the water molecule.”

Nyota looked horrified. “So Sulu still has some of it in him?”

“He must. It’s running a simple program and trying to consume his life, but of course there’s no place for his life to go—”

“Save for into his daughter, Demora.” Spock frowned. “However, there were several witnesses who saw that the transference of DNA altered the user’s original genetic makeup. Logically, anyone who comes into physical contact should absorb some energy.”

“Maybe not,” Nyota said. “That was an assumption we all made, but maybe we got the time ordering wrong. It might be that the altering of the user’s DNA comes _first_. Maybe you can only absorb the person’s life if you’re already a close match.”

“Then the proto-scanning device reads the host and radically alters the user’s genetic code. Demora Sulu would already be a suitably close genetic match.”

“Of course.” McCoy was bouncing on his toes now, giddy with excitement. “It slips in a few Abronath molecules to open the floodgates and then tricks the host’s DNA to recognize the _user_ as the person who needs new, replicating strands and wham, bam, thank you ma’am—you’ve got a life-extending device! Okay.” He clapped his hands together. “I really do have to go to the med center now. I can actually work with this.”

Spock was looking at him brightly, and McCoy had the sudden gleeful urge to grab him and kiss him. But of course, he could actually do that. Kiss Spock, right now. So he did. He bounced into Spock’s space and the Universe seemed to narrow around them, to one sharp point at the corner of Spock’s mouth where he was barely suppressing a smile. McCoy didn’t even try to hide his own grin as he leaned into an electrifying kiss. His pleasure sparked between them and Spock shivered and sighed, tipping his head to give McCoy a better angle to share his joy at their discovery.

When he pulled back Spock leaned a little after him, and McCoy grinned. He made a break for it, calling over his shoulder, “You two have fun now, you hear?”

Nyota waved after him. “We will! Good luck, Doctor!”

He was still floating as he jogged to the transporter, whipping out his communicator along the way and calling Dr. Dreil to ask for a surgical bay and their assistance.

—

After all that, the final surgery went relatively fast. As fast as micro-surgery ever went, that is.

It took him twelve hours to carefully isolate each trace molecule of Abronath. He had to reprogram his surgical scanner to search for magnetic covalent bonds, and once he knew what he was looking for it became abundantly clear what didn’t belong in Sulu’s body. He would have kicked himself for missing it for so long if he hadn’t been so damned pleased that he’d found it at all. McCoy was exhausted from the strain of standing hunched over Sulu by the time he finished up.

Sulu was left with only a small silver bandage on the back of his neck to show for their troubles.

“You can go now. We’ll need to start you on a pharmaceutical regimen again,” McCoy said, showering Sulu with hypos and pill bottles. “One of each of these pills a day, and one hypo every twelve hours in the arm or thigh.”

“I can go?” Sulu asked in disbelief.

McCoy grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “You have to report back here everyday for the next month at 0800 hours for your physical and mental therapy,” he scolded.

“But, I can go?”

He grunted again. “And no extra physical activity! Your body is still healing. I don’t want you back in here just because you sprained your old-man back before it could recover.”

“Doctor!”

“Yes, you can go,” he growled. Then he softened. “You can even hug Demora.”

As if by providence, the doors swished open and Demora and Ben came rushing in. Demora started forward only to hang back, her eyes dancing around the med bay as she appeared to notice the isolation walls were down.

“Hikaru?” Ben asked, his voice wavering.

“It’s okay,” McCoy said when he realized that Sulu was crying too hard to speak. “He’s fine. The surgery was a success. Demora, I think your Daddy could really use a hug.”

Hesitantly, she stepped forward, and Sulu practically flew off the biobed in his rush to get to her. They met in the middle of the bay in an elated embrace, with Demora jumping in joy and Sulu laughing and still crying. Ben seemed to collapse around them, wrapping around them both up with his larger frame so that all three were hugging each other fiercely.

McCoy swiped away a few tears of his own.

Sulu left with Ben and Demora each holding one of his hands. McCoy slunk back to his quarters with the intention of sleeping for about a million years, only to find that there was a bottle of fine bourbon waiting for him at the door.

He took it in and examined it. There was a small holo attached that read, “To a clear answer and some firm ground to stand on.”

McCoy smiled at the gift. Commodore Paris certainly seemed to know her drink. He wondered if there was a secret document somewhere that listed the favorite drinks of every Starfleet officer, because she’d certainly chosen one that seemed designed for him. He decided he would have  a little nip to celebrate his successful surgery. Although he could have waited for Spock, he was fairly certain the Vulcan wouldn’t want any. He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a finger in a plain glass, toasting the empty air before taking a sip.

Oh, it was divine. He sprawled out on the couch and poked half-heartedly at his report on Sulu as he nursed the drink. He had taken off his scrubs and was just in his black thermals when his door chimed. He shivered.

“Come in.”

The door shushed open and Jim stepped in, eyes widening at the sight of him. “Expecting someone else, Bones?”

McCoy sat up and growled at him. His shirt had slid up a bit, and he pulled it back down to cover his belly again. “Don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I could leave if you’re about to have a hot date.” Jim pointed at the door behind him with mock-innocence, but McCoy wasn’t an idiot. He saw that Jim was questioning whether he was welcome there at all.

“Just get your ass in here and help me finish this bottle of bourbon.”

Jim bounded in and picked up the bottle, whistling under his breath at the sight of it. “Whoa. This is some good stuff, Bones. Where’d you get it?”

“Your Commodore Paris sent it. It’s a celebratory gift to Sulu’s good health.”

“The rumors are true, then? He’s all better?” Jim found himself a glass and pulled over a chair from the table. McCoy frowned at that, wondering why Jim didn’t just sit by him on the couch. He supposed it didn’t matter. If he knew his friend, Jim would end up next to him before the night was over.

“He’s one-hundred percent ship shape. All it took was a little micro-surgery and an actual damned clue about what was wrong.” He watched Jim pour himself a generous serving of bourbon and he stuck out his own glass for a top off, which Jim happily provided.

“You just got done?” When McCoy nodded, Jim rolled his eyes. “You should be asleep.”

McCoy gave him a dry look and raised his glass. “To a full night’s sleep, then. The greatest pipe dream of any Starfleet officer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jim said, and he did. His eyes fluttered shut after the drink as he savored it, and McCoy felt something tight and painful pull at his heart. Jim looked just as he had on the Enterprise, before the whole mess with Altamid. He looked as he had when they shared a drink in the observation lounge: adrift, melancholic.

“Jim, why didn’t you tell me you were planning to leave?”

Jim’s eyes flew open in surprise. “I… what do you mean?” he asked carefully.

McCoy sighed roughly. “You were going to transfer your idiot self to the _Yorktown_. Commodore Paris told me as much. Jim, why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you talk to me? Am I not—” He paused, grimacing. “What did you expect me to do?” _Without you_ , he didn’t say.

Jim at least had the decency to look chagrined, but McCoy took no pleasure in that. “Bones, I… I didn’t tell anyone. I was going to tell Spock, but…”

“But not me?” When Jim winced, McCoy looked away and took another drink to steel his nerves. “Did you think I wouldn’t support you?”

“No, I know you would have. That almost made it worse.” He chuckled, but there was no humor there. “I was in a pretty bad place and couldn’t figure out the problem. I thought it was the Enterprise. I thought it was because it all felt too…”

“Aimless?”

“Too much like home,” Jim corrected, to McCoy’s surprise. “Once you’ve found your purpose I guess it’s easy to feel like you haven’t got one anymore. No goal to work towards, I don’t know. I was being an idiot. I realized that the second I had to give the order to abandon ship. The idea that we would never… never be together again…” He paused and gulped down some bourbon, taking a huge breath. His hand gripping his drink was shaking slightly. “But my crew is my family. You all are my family. I can’t just abandon you like that. Not again.”

“Jim.” McCoy felt heartbroken. He reached out and rested his hand on Jim’s knee, unsure what to say.

Jim smiled at him as though he’d said something profound anyway, a sort of sad and broken little smile. Not one of his distracting smirks, just honest. “You know I wouldn’t be anything without you, Bones.”

“That’s stupid. You’re plenty all on your own.” He grinned to relieve the tension. “In fact, you’re quite the handful.”

Jim hummed his agreement. “I shouldn’t have tried to leave you alone like that.”

“I wouldn’t have been alone,” he said, which felt untrue. McCoy shifted uncomfortably. He had to move his hand from Jim’s knee and he cradled his drink in both palms. “But, uh. Spock was planning on going, too.”

Jim nodded. “I know.”

“He finally told you?”

“Nah. I figured it out from how cagey he was being. And, maybe the fact that I was leaving let me see it in others. That’s why I said that to him, you know. When you both caught me just before I got myself sucked into space. I wanted him to know I needed him, too.”

McCoy blinked. “That’s damned manipulative.”

“You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”

Jim had him there, and McCoy forced out a laugh. They sat in silence for a moment that stretched around them, comfortable and familiar. The silence of old friends who have said it all and then some. They took their time drinking, and Jim refilled their glasses. McCoy was starting to feel pleasantly warm when Jim slipped off the chair and flopped down on the couch, throwing one leg over the arm of it and resting his other foot on the floor, his knee bouncing with energy.

“It’s more comfortable over here,” he said with a deep sigh as he settled in.

McCoy grunted and took a sip. He’d flung his arm over the back of the couch, and Jim fit into the space at his side neatly. He realized how it would have looked to an outsider, but to him this was just Jim being Jim. It usually took a few more drinks to get him cuddly like this, but maybe he was feeling needy today.

After a while, Jim hummed into his drink. “So how are things going between you and Spock?”

The question pleased McCoy to no end, and he knew he was smiling like an idiot. He seemed to do a lot of that when Spock was involved. “We actually talked, miracle of miracles. And I talked to Uhura, too. We have her blessing, or she has mine. I’m not sure exactly who needs a blessing from who, but the point is we’re going to figure this out together.”

“So you and Spock and Uhura…”

“Well, not _all_ together. She's his ex-and-maybe-future girlfriend, but she and I are just friends with a shared common interest.”

“And that interest is getting into Spock’s pants.” Jim laughed. “As long as you’re happy.”

McCoy studied him. Jim was just looking straight ahead, face flat and contemplative. “As long as I’m happy...what?”

“Well, uh.” Jim startled. “Then… you’re happy. And I’m happy?”

“Uh-huh. Jim, are you aware of how many times I dragged your broken-ass home after a night of bad decisions?”

“Several? More than ten?” Jim had started to smile a little, clearly wondering where this was going.

“More than… Yes, more than ten!” McCoy answered in disbelief. “At least a hundred, although it felt like thousands. Enough to know your different stages of drunkenness like the back of my hand. I could probably write another dissertation on the subject.” He raised an eyebrow at Jim and dropped his arm, wrapping it around Jim’s shoulders and trapping him against his side. “Enough to know that you’re nowhere near cuddly-drunk.”

Jim tried to wiggle away, but McCoy had the leverage to keep him in place. “Bones,” Jim whined. “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you, Jim,” he said very seriously.

Jim went utterly still, and suddenly he looked almost terrified. McCoy released him immediately and Jim sat up and rolled over to the far side of the couch, curling around his glass of bourbon and staring into it. He was twitching with clear discomfort. “Sorry, Bones,” he said after a moment, his voice hollow.

“What’re you apologizing for?”

“I just…” He shook his head. Huffed out a sigh. “Sorry for being such a huge pain in your backside.”

McCoy could see that Jim was deflecting, trying to throw him off the scent of what was really wrong. Well, he wasn’t going to let Jim out of it that easily. He set his drink down with a rounding _clack_ and turned fully to face his friend. “Vulcans have this thing.”

Jim looked at him, confused. “Thing?”

“I don’t know what else to call it. It’s a thing about holding hands and telling the truth. Apparently if you’re holding their hand you can’t lie, you can only feel the truth of their emotions. I think it’s partly the telepathy and partly cultural taboos. Spock told me about it, and we’ve tried it a few times.” That was sort of an exaggeration of what Spock had said, but McCoy was willing to read between the lines. “So let’s try it now.”

Jim was frowning at him. “That wouldn’t work for two humans.”

“Obviously.” McCoy rolled his eyes. “Give me your hands anyway.”

Jim didn’t move for so long that McCoy actually thought he wouldn’t do it. Then, slowly, he set down his glass and turned. He crossed his legs beneath him and held out his hands, palms up, and McCoy folded his own hands into them. He held fast to Jim, and Jim looked both disturbed and thankful.

“Now, tell me the truth,” McCoy demanded.

“About what?” Jim feigned.

“Why do you always use alcohol as an excuse to get close to me? To everyone?”

Jim tried to pull his hands away, but McCoy didn’t let go. He realized with a pang of disappointment that now he knew how Spock always felt when he was being recalcitrant. It didn’t feel too great. “Bones, I’m not… I’m not interested in you like that, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d never try to get between you and Spock.”

“But you are jealous of us.”

Jim gaped at him, looking deeply hurt. “I’m not,” he said, and looked away. “Not exactly. I’m serious when I say I’m happy for you both. I’m not lying about that.”

“I know.” He didn’t say anything else.

Jim clearly expected him to go on, and when he stayed quiet Jim began to get antsy. McCoy could feel every little movement as Jim began to shift uncomfortably. He glanced to the side again, eyes darting around the room before looking back to McCoy with a griamce. “...Then why are you acting all weird?”

McCoy just raised his eyebrow.

“Well, you are!” Jim exploded. He groaned and started jittering with nervous energy again. Jesus, he was just as bad at talking about his feeling as McCoy was. Was it really possible that out of the three of them _Spock_ was the most emotionally well-adjusted? If so, it was a recent thing according to Nyota, and he absolutely could not let Spock know he had ever thought that. “Can’t we just go back to the way things were?” Jim asked.

“What does that even mean?”

“I mean before, before all this!” He tried to gesture with his hands, but McCoy was still holding him and so he wound up just shrugging in defeat.

“...Jim, if you want to be with Spock, you just have to say it.” Jim was just staring at him now, so McCoy went on awkwardly. “I think he might be okay with that. I mean, obviously he cares a lot about you. He, uh, may have shared some stuff with me about, uh, hands and the sun and—okay. Actually, some of that was from me but _dammit_ Jim I am so pissed at you for trying to leave me! Don’t you know that I need you?” He realized that he wasn’t making any sense and he stopped talking to catch his breath. He felt like he was lost in Jim’s determined blue eyes.

“Bones, I… love Spock.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I love you.”

That brought him up short, and judging by Jim’s mischievous smile that was exactly as Jim had intended. Dammit, he’d been played. He glared at Jim as the smile slid off his face, passing into melancholy again.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Jim said. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I have no intention of getting in the way of you and Spock.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way you blasted idiot! Maybe I like you too, huh? Ever think of that? Did you ever think that maybe Jim Kirk could have a relationship that lasted longer than ten seconds and the person would still _like_ him?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Jim exclaimed again. “Bones, I’m not attracted to men!”

That surprised him. “But in the other universe—?”

“That doesn't change who I am in _this_ universe, where we are _right now_!” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I have enough to live up to, what with this fated friendship between me and Spock. I don’t need fated sex, too.”

McCoy could see where he was coming from with that. He looked at Jim’s hands as he considered his words. “Jim, quit being an idiot for a second.”

Jim snorted at him.

“I’m serious. I’ll try to stop being stupid, too,” he offered. “Just tell me the truth. What do you want from me?”

“Not sex,” Jim said instantly, and McCoy rolled his eyes and muttered _flatterer_ under his breath. “I just… Want, uh, want this. I guess. Drinks and talking and—no, okay? I want to be able to be close to you without needing an excuse. Without having to be drunk or injured. Bones, you’re my best friend.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Spock.”

“I can have two!” Jim yelled, clearly annoyed. “I don’t want to fuck up this friendship, okay? I’ve never wanted to fuck it up just because I, I’m weak sometimes and need a hug, some...affection when I know you’ll want more than I can give you. I can’t start a relationship when I know I can’t put out.”

McCoy blinked at him. That was… extremely harsh. “Jim, you want a relationship with me?” Jim tried to pull his hands away again and McCoy let him go, but it was a trap. He curled his hands around Jim’s biceps and pulled him close. “For how long?”

“Jesus, I don’t know. Since you threatened to barf on me and then didn’t write me off even though I was covered in blood?”

“That’s a long time,” McCoy observed.

“Yeah, whatever.” Jim tried to wriggle out of his grip, eyes darting to where McCoy still held him. “Bones, are you going to kiss me? Because, uh. Please don’t.”

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he snapped, although he knew he would greatly enjoy that as long as Jim was comfortable with it. “I’m thinking. We have a lot to make up for. Ten years of affection, in fact.” He made a snap decision and pulled Jim into a hug.

Jim was stiff and unyielding, keeping his arms straight at his sides as McCoy tried to hug him. “You don’t have to do this,” he muttered.

“Shut up. I want to. Just hug me back and deal with it.”

Hesitantly, Jim obeyed. McCoy could feel his hands shaking, but then his arms were around him, palms pressed to McCoy’s shoulder blades, and all the fight seemed to leak out of him and he yanked McCoy close, shuddering. They held each other awkwardly on the tiny couch for a long moment as Jim worked through whatever he needed to work through to convince himself that it was okay to enjoy this. McCoy could feel Jim’s nose pressed against the side of his neck, bony and uncomfortable. They were both of them too big to fit on the couch like this and his leg was falling asleep, but McCoy didn’t try to move.

After a while Jim shook himself and sniffed. “I’m serious, Bones. About not being into men.”

McCoy grunted. “You don’t have to let me have sex with you just to get a hug. That’s a pretty fucked up view of romance.” He brightened slightly, and his voice was cheery as he continued. “Anyway, if I want that I’ve got a very sexy Vulcan at my disposal now.”

Jim laughed and slumped against him. “You’re just torturing me now.”

He patted Jim on the back. “Just doing what comes naturally.”

—

Eventually, McCoy started to fall asleep, and Jim was the one to tuck him into bed. He chuckled sleepily at the role reversal as Jim helped him out of his boots, and then he pulled Jim into bed with him. He could feel Jim’s nervous breathing, but eventually he seemed to realize that McCoy meant it when he said he would respect Jim’s boundaries. They cuddled together as sleep curled around the both of them.

When the door chimed he awoke with a start.

Jim groaned and pushed him out of bed, pulling the blanket over his head. “Get that, would you?”

McCoy scoffed. “Don’t go out of your way to accommodate me, or anything.”

“‘Kay, I won’t,” Jim said from beneath the blanket. His toes were sticking out the bottom.

McCoy just grinned and shook his head. The door chimed again and he stumbled towards it. “Hold your horses, you damned impatient…” He keyed it open. “Spock,” he said, his residual annoyance melting off of him. Of course it was Spock.

Spock looked at him curiously. “May I come in?”

“Yes, yes.” He actually couldn’t resist pulling Spock inside, and Spock went completely willingly.

“I have some matters of biology to discuss,” Spock said, handing McCoy a dataPADD.

McCoy took it, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. It was all in Vulcan. He could read the report phonetically, but of course he had no idea what it translated to. _Pon Farr_ it was titled, and he nodded although that meant nothing to him. “Okay, but first I think—”

“Hey, Spock.”

“Captain.” Spock nodded to him and then did a visible double-take that would have been hilarious under other circumstances. “Jim?”

McCoy looked at him, too, and sighed. Jim’s hair was all mussed on one side, and he had a clear sleep-indentation on his cheek. Even if he hadn’t been wrapped up in the blanket and exiting McCoy’s bedroom it still would have been obvious they’d been sleeping together. Just sleeping, of course. “Spock, why don’t you come sit with us?” McCoy asked, reaching out to brush his fingers against Spock’s. Spock sent him stunned acceptance, trepidation, confusion, burgeoning happiness. “Please?”

Spock nodded and let McCoy entangle their fingers together. McCoy sent as many positive thoughts his way as possible, and he felt Spock relax. “This is acceptable,” he said.

McCoy chuckled and looked at Jim, who seemed just as torpedo-shocked as Spock. “Good,” he said. “Because I think the three of us have a lot to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last actual chapter. There will be one more chapter, which is the epilogue.
> 
> I really wanted to include some technobabble, because I love that stuff, but boy is it hard to write! I hope it makes some sense. If it doesn't, just remember the "babble" portion of "technobabble."
> 
> "Pon farr": you all know what this means, although of course McCoy doesn't yet. :) I literally only made him capable of phonetically sounding out Vulcan words so that this two-second exchange could happen. Worth it.


	12. Epilogue

_Four months and two weeks later._

McCoy sighed to himself as he read through his letter for what felt like the hundredth time. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it had to be perfect. One wrong word, one slip up, and he might lose her all over again.

As he stewed, Demora suddenly came running into the living room, shrieking with laughter as Jim chased after her. He caught her up and swung her around, blowing a raspberry against her neck that had her hollering and shrieking again.

“No fair, Uncle Jim! It’s no fair you caught me! You’re taller than me.” She writhed in an attempt to escape.

“I think it’s totally fair,” Jim said. “Bones, don’t you agree?”

“Huh?” He looked up, confused. “Agree with what?”

“You agree,” Jim said. “Demora _could_ use her epic tininess to her advantage and hide behind the couch.” He smiled knowingly at her. “You’ve got to learn to strategize, kid. If you’re up against a foe that seems more powerful than you, figure out what you’ve got going for you and use it.”

“Fine,” she whined. “But I’m not tiny.”

McCoy smiled softly at their antics. Demora finally succeeded in freeing herself from Jim’s grasp and she plopped down on the couch next to him, butting into his space and trying to read his PADD.

“What are you working on?”

“Just a letter.”

“Huh. Who’s it to? Anyone I know?”

McCoy considered her for a moment, and then glanced at Jim. “No,” he said carefully. “No one you know. She’s about your age, though. I’m writing a letter to my daughter, Joanna.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Demora said. “Is she going to be in Starfleet like you? When I’m captain she can be my first officer.”

“I thought you wanted to be a doctor?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “That was months ago. Anyway, if I want to be the youngest Captain in Starfleet I have to get serious about my future.”

“Not that serious,” Jim said, flopping over on McCoy’s other side. He leaned against McCoy’s arm like he always did, seriously impeding his ability to write the letter. “I’m the current youngest and I slacked off my whole life before that.”

“Don’t tell her that.”

“I already know. Daddy always says not to do anything Uncle Jim does, even if it worked out okay in the end.” She reached over and took the PADD from McCoy. “Here, let me help, since I’m an expert in human-girl biology and psychology.”

“You seem to have obtained a few new degrees,” McCoy muttered, but since there was nothing too damaging in the letter he relinquished it. “Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” she said haughtily and then almost immediately, “Oops.”

“...What did you do?”

“I accidentally sent it?” She smiled awkwardly at him.

He let out a huge sigh as Jim giggled into his shoulder. “Well, at least now I don't have to anguish over it anymore.” He took the PADD back and shut it off, too tired to think about that any longer.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll like it. You make a good Uncle, so I bet you make a good dad, too.”

McCoy tried not to let on how much her words affected him. He shrugged Jim off and stood looking around the room, breathing deeply to calm himself. “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up before your Dads get home.”

Demora let out an, “Ugh,” of frustration, but she did rise and began picking up the huge array of toys that had been scattered all throughout the living room. As she scampered off to her bedroom, McCoy felt Jim behind him.

Jim wrapped his arms around McCoy and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” McCoy leaned back against him.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m just… worried,” McCoy said quietly. “It took so long to get Jocelyn to agree to this, but now I’m afraid that Joanna herself won’t be interested in me. I failed her for so long… why should she even give me the time of day?”

“I don’t know how it’s going to go,” Jim said honestly. “But if she’s anything like you I think she’ll realize that’s in the past now. I hope she’ll give you a second chance. But, Bones, whatever happens I’m here for you, and I know Spock is, too. The crew is all here for you and we’ll help you get through it.”

“...Jim, what if _I’m_ not ready?”

Jim held him more tightly. “Then we’ll get through that, too.”

McCoy took in another shuddering breath and blinked up at the ceiling. “Thanks,” he managed to say.

They pulled apart and McCoy concentrated on helping Demora clean up. It was good to have something simple and methodical to focus on. Demora was her normal cheerful self, which both pained and elated McCoy. They had just finished putting everything away when Ben and Hikaru keyed open the door.

“Hey, sorry we’re late,” Hikaru said, looking sort of rumpled and also embarrassed. “Got a little side-tracked on the way back.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow at them. He was gripping Ben’s hand tightly, and Ben himself was poorly hiding a hickey under his shirt collar. “I figured you would be,” McCoy said. “I just add about two hours to any time estimate you give me.”

Hikaru frowned. “We aren’t _that_ late.”

“Daddy, Chichi, come here and look at this.” Demora grabbed the nearest Dad—who happened to be Ben—and started pulling him into the kitchen. “Uncle Bones showed me how to put together a medical tricorder! You gotta see it.”

Ben followed dutifully, and Hikaru smiled at them.

“Thanks again for watching her.”

“It’s our pleasure,” McCoy drawled. He could feel Jim hovering behind him, so he sighed pointedly and glared him. “Unfortunately, we can’t stay and chat. Jim’s got an agenda for us.”

“I just want to see trees, Bones! If I have to look at a wall for another second I’m really going to lose it.”

“You’re going to be looking at walls for a good long while starting next week.”

“That’s different. That’s the Enterprise’s walls.”

McCoy had to give it to him; it did feel different. He still couldn’t believe it was happening, that next week they would all be together again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hikaru said. “I hope the three of you enjoy your camping trip. We’ll see you again at launch.”

Indeed they would, and although McCoy was still trepidatious about Starfleet’s plan to blast families into space, he found he was looking forward to seeing more of Ben and having Demora underfoot. There were a dozen families of officers, the Sulu family included, who would be boarding the Enterprise in a week’s time as a trial run for the new program. If it was successful, more families would join them, and soon Starfleet would be making ships even bigger to accommodate them.

They exchanged goodbyes and he and Jim left to pick up their shuttle. They had already packed it with supplies, which was a good bit of foresight as Jim seemed like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin with the excitement of camping. McCoy let him fly, choosing instead to sit back and look out the window at the passing scenery. They finally arrived in the little coniferous glade Jim had picked out for them and Jim set down the shuttle with a jolt. He was up and moving almost before it was done landing.

“Good Lord, a little patience never hurt anybody,” McCoy told him. “We’ve got seven whole days out here.”

“I know, but I want to get the tent and everything set up before Spock gets here. The thought of you two trying to work together on that frankly terrifies me.” He laughed and dodge McCoy’s playful whack.

“Dammit, Jim!” McCoy found he couldn’t resist a smile as he followed him outside.

Together, the two of them set up their three-man tent, buttressing it up right against the shuttle. It took some doing, and McCoy found himself exclaiming that he was a doctor, not a backwoodsman twice before he managed to stop himself. Jim just glowed at him as they worked. Soon enough the tent was upright, if a little lopsided. Jim got to work putting together their mechanical phasefire— a pale imitation of the real thing, if you asked McCoy.

“That bundle of bolts looks like a death trap,” he muttered when it was finally assembled, although he knew that statistically they were much safer. It was just unsettling how it had so many sharp and poking-out metal bits, and the way the heating coil just sat there in the open air. “Looks like a broken toaster.”

“Hopefully I remembered to put the safety valve on correctly,” Jim said, and then grinned hugely in response to McCoy’s death glare.

Not long after, another shuttle flew overhead and circled back to land just a few yards away. McCoy stood while Jim wiggled like an excited puppy. The shuttle doors slid open and Nyota and Spock came walking out. Nyota carried a small box under her arm, and Spock had his overnight bag swung over his shoulder.

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed, and took off running.

Spock seemed utterly resigned to his fate as he dropped his bag to catch their rambunctious Captain. Jim leapt into his arms and grappled him like an octopus, and Spock merely hugged him back with a vaguely fond, vaguely exasperated look on his face.

“It is agreeable to see you again, Jim.”

Nyota shook her head at the two of them and strolled over to where McCoy was watching them, equally amused. “We expected this,” she said, holding up her little box. “So he had me carry the important things.”

“Smart.”

She gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek and went to put the box away in the tent. When she returned, Spock had finally gotten Jim to disentangle himself, and Jim waggled his eyebrows at her.

“So, how was your date?” Jim asked.

“None of your business,” Nyota told him sweetly before leaning up to give Spock a kiss on the cheek as well that left him smiling slightly. “You boys have fun now, and don’t get into too much trouble.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” McCoy promised.

She looked at him incredulously. “You’re just as bad as they are. Don’t deny it.”

He really couldn’t, so instead he shrugged innocently and waved goodbye as Nyota climbed back into the shuttle. It rose into the air smoothly.

Jim clapped Spock on the shoulder, and then did the same to McCoy. “I’m going to get dinner around,” he said with another suggestive eyebrow waggle that was mostly aimed at McCoy. “So I’ll be over there in case you two want a nice reunion. Hope you both like beans!”

McCoy didn’t even notice as Jim left them. At the moment, he only had eyes for Spock. He couldn’t stop looking at him standing there against the backdrop of the trees, looking tall and regal and elegant. His hair ruffled gently in the breeze, and McCoy was filled with a sense of longing and desire and happiness that made him step forward.

Spock half-smiled at him and tipped his head to one side, making his bangs fall enticingly out of place. “Leonard.”

“Spock.” He kept right on going until Spock met him, brushing their hands together. He could feel the quiet brightness of Spock’s own yearning, and his elation at seeing him again.

They curled their fingers and Spock’s other arm came around McCoy’s wait to pull him close. McCoy sighed in pleasure at the contact, and Spock took advantage, gently nipping at him before sliding their lips together, soft and sweet. McCoy tried not to swoon and then gave up on that, instead cupping the back of Spock’s neck to steady himself. They stood against each other, swaying in the gentle breeze and breathing each other’s air, the mixture of Spock’s sweet fragrance and McCoy’s earthy cologne. Vulcan and human swirled together, mingling with the scent of pine needles as they mapped each other’s mouths and the planes of their bodies. It intoxicated McCoy until he was quite certain there was nothing keeping him upright but Spock’s strong hands on his body.

He pulled back after a long while and placed a gentle kiss on Spock’s jaw before just resting his head on Spock’s shoulder, his lips barely touching his neck.

“It has been too long, Ashayam,” Spock whispered into his ear.

McCoy shivered at the breath against his skin. “It’s only been two days.”

“A truly interminable length of time.” Spock kissed his ear and then gently nibbled at it.

Shivering again, McCoy pulled away. “That tickles,” he scolded, kissing Spock’s devilish lips. “...We should go help Jim.”

“Indeed.” One final kiss turned into three or four, both Vulcan and human, before they finally managed to pull apart for real. Spock picked up his bag and shouldered it.

They had been standing together for a while, and Jim had nearly finished their meal. “It’s about time,” he said, grinning. “I thought I’d have to assemble a search party.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and pulled out his tricorder, ignoring Spock’s look of surprise.

“The effects of my _pon farr_ have been fully dissipated for over two weeks now, Leonard.”

“I’m the doctor, so I’ll be the judge of that,” McCoy groused. But that did appear to be the case, so he shut his tricorder with a snap and smiled fondly at Spock. “You’ll forgive me if I want to make sure it’s out of your system. It’s my job to worry about you.”

Jim shoved a bowl into his hands with a grin, jolting him back to reality. “Okay!” Jim exclaimed excitedly. “So I’ve got hot dogs for me and Bones and veggie dogs for Spock, and beans for all of us, and coffee!”

He handed out the food and the three of them sat down on Jim’s open sleeping bag and ate as evening fell around them. There were no bugs on _Yorktown_ , just the cool, quiet evening and the soft recirculated breeze whistling through the trees. Jim regaled them with a tall tale from his academy days, and McCoy filled in the gaps and knocked the wind out of Jim’s more blatant lying, and Spock listened raptly, taking it all in with bright, interested eyes.

There was still a hazy bit of orange light filtering down from the panels when Spock rose and dusted off his pants. He walked to the tent and pulled out the little box Nyota had stowed there.

“I have several items which belonged to Ambassador Spock which I wish to share with you.”

Instantly, McCoy sat up from his slouch, and even Jim looked more somber. Spock knelt between them and set the box down on the ground, opening it.

There was not much, which unexpectedly pulled at McCoy’s heartstrings. He could not imagine what Ambassador Spock had felt at the loss of not just his belongings but also his home, his friends, his family, his planet. To come to a new universe with only the shirt on your back could not have been easy, not by a long shot. Spock pulled out a soft red cloth that was stitched with Vulcan characters. McCoy recognized it as the Vulcan IDIC, and he smiled. He touched the silky material when Spock handed it to him, and then passed it to Jim. There was a robe as well that looked oddly too small for Spock, and then a flat gold box with a diamond decoration on the cover. Spock held the box in his hands for a moment before sliding it open.

“Oh,” McCoy said.

“It’s us,” added Jim.

It really was them, but older and a little different. Spock and Jim looked the most like themselves. Spock’s long, angular face seemed the same in any universe, although Jim was really only recognizable by his smile. His hair was curly and his eyes were a different color. When McCoy looked at himself—his other self—he had the funny thought that somehow he had switched eyes with Jim. He could barely recognize the rumpled, blue-eyed man. He looked small in the photo, and very tired, but the smile he wore belied the joy he felt inside. Nyota and Sulu were recognizable, but Chekov looked so much older, as did Scotty. It felt odd to look at them all like that, standing shoulder to shoulder and gazing into the camera steadily. Posing for a family photo.

He had to breathe steadily so as not to cry.

“I have wished to live my life as Ambassador Spock did,” Spock said quietly. “I once believed that meant spending my days on New Vulcan. However…” He touched the picture softly. “I now know differently. I know that to stay with my family is not shameful, but rather is the most fulfilling potential imaginable for me.”

“Spock…” McCoy choked, and then he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He swiped a few tears from his eyes and hugged Spock tightly. He could feel Jim wrapping around him as well, and the three of them held on tight.

“I can’t believe he had this with him,” Jim said in awe. He took the photo from Spock and turned it over in his hands. “He must have carried it with him everywhere.”

“A logical deduction. It does not appear to be a recreation.”

“Even if it were, this would have had to have been such a clear… memory… huh.”

“What is it?” McCoy asked.

“There’s a…” The photo box clicked in his hands and then the picture slid up.

Spock instantly craned his neck to look more closely, and for as much as he always liked to pretend he was calm and collected, it was clear that he loved a secret panel just as much as any human would. “Fascinating,” he breathed.

McCoy rolled his eyes, but he was curious and so he peered over. The mystery didn’t run too deep. There was a small, rather poorly rendered drawing of an animal of some kind. Next to it was the Vulcan word _korsau_ which Nyota had recently taught him meant  _save_.

“What is it?” he asked.

Spock took the image back and studied it closely. “I believe it is…” His eyebrow arched. “A whale. In particular, a humpback.”

“What’s that?”

“An Earth mammal. They have been extinct for several centuries.” Spock shook his head. “Curious. Why would the Ambassador leave this image?”

“I think he’s messing with you,” McCoy said.

“Maybe he just liked whales,” Jim suggested.

“...Perhaps.” Spock carefully closed the little picture box. “Regardless, it is not a mystery which will be solved tonight.” He packed away all of Ambassador Spock’s things.

They lounged for a while sipping coffee. When it was well and truly dark, McCoy busted out the bag of marshmallows he’d snuck along as a surprise and they learned that Spock couldn’t pronounce it properly.

“Marshmellons,” he said again with a slight frown. “Is that not correct?”

Jim laughed uproariously and McCoy kissed Spock just because he could, and they taught Spock the finer art of roasting a marshmallow. McCoy had to begrudgingly admit that the imitation flame was surprisingly well-suited for such a task. They wound up with golden-brown, delectable treats.

“Normally you want to burn your first few,” McCoy told Spock.

“Why would I wish to ruin my food?”

“It’s a rite of passage,” Jim told him. “You get the outside all blackened and then you pull it off and just eat the gooey, barely cooked innards. Mm, delectable.”

“God, just thinking about it makes me want to light the whole bag on fire.” McCoy laughed as Spock looked at him in alarm. “But I won’t, don’t worry.” He plucked another perfectly done marshmallow from his stick and offered it to Spock, who accepted it with open mouth. McCoy hummed in delight.

He was pleasantly full and elated as he laid back to look up at the stars. Laying like that made his necklace slide down and pool at the hollow of his throat, and it let it lie there as a satisfying weight against his pulse. He was surprised when Spock lay down beside him. He was less surprised when Jim laid down cattywampus to them, so his head was on McCoy’s stomach and his legs were thrown over Spock’s. Spock reached out and McCoy took his hand, resting it on Jim’s belly as Jim complained about their blatant make-outs. He rubbed at Jim’s head with his free hand to quiet him.

“...What do you think, Spock?”

“To what do you refer, Jim?”

“The stars. What do you think of them?”

There was a moment of silence before Spock spoke again. Through the touch of their hands, McCoy could feel the gentle eddies of his thoughts, colored with a deep excitement that bordered on passion. “I continue to find them fascinating, despite so many years among them. It will be gratifying to study them closely once again.”

“Mm,” Jim agreed. “I just can’t wait to get back out there! I miss flying around from planet to planet, always an adventure around every corner.” Jim sighed as McCoy carded his fingers through his hair. “What about you, Bones?”

McCoy considered. He’d had a lot of thoughts about the stars over the years. Mostly his thoughts had been frightened ones, concerned ones, sometimes even angry ones. He’d cursed the stars and hidden from them, and he’d often hated them for being so bright and enticing when the rest of the Universe remained so dark and foreboding. He knew this, but at that moment he couldn’t muster up those kinds of thoughts. At that moment, looking up at those little pinpricks of light, he felt longing tremble through him. The same sort of longing he felt when he looked at Spock, when he went too long without holding Jim. He missed the stars. He missed the Enterprise, his crew. His family. The feeling felt too big for him to contain all at once—indeed, it welled up inside him as big as the Universe itself, and bigger.

“It’ll be nice to go home,” was all he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, and leaving comments and kudos. This was a very fun story for me to work on and I hope it has been as cathartic for you as it was for me! I've given myself a lot of future plot hooks that I may someday decide to pick up on (I'm the king of sequel bait), but I also have some other projects I want to work on. Either way you can expect more of these nerds. :)
> 
> If you have questions about this work, please feel free to send me an ask on [Tumblr](http://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/ask)!  
> Thanks again!


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